


Alive

by greensearcher



Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991), Beauty and the Beast (2017), Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Domestic Violence, Drama, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Happy Ending, Heartwarming, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Pining, Romance, Sexual Content, Some Plot, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Suspense, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2020-01-25 20:14:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18581785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greensearcher/pseuds/greensearcher
Summary: Years of abuse have left Belle empty; years of solitude have left the Beast hopeless. But while it’s far too late to break the curse, it isn’t too late to heal. And it's never too late to find the one who's been waiting for you.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bless you for clicking despite that sappy summary, lol. So you know, this will be a much simpler (and, god help me, shorter) story than Mirrors, and possibly a little darker...and sexier. I imagine not too many folks will complain about that :) And I'm sorry for kind of disappearing this last year - life dished out some trauma, but I feel like I'm finally starting to thrive again. Anyway I'm very excited to be writing for this community again, I've missed you guys! xoxo

The forest grew still as death with the first snow of autumn. The Beast watched the heavy flakes fall, brushing the stuff off his head and arms every few minutes before it could melt into his greying fur. He’d known this place felt familiar, but he hadn’t realized why until it was covered in a blanket of white. Strange how the seasons had returned to his old woods, even after everything else here had died.

He grimaced, and pulled his cloak close despite not really being cold. He’d regretted coming back this way when he'd lost the buck’s trail; now he regretted it even more. 

Something rustled in the distant trees. His ears twitched its direction, catching the sounds of snarls and scampering feet in the brush. _Wolves,_ he realized, frowning. He’d nearly forgotten about them. He stood, deciding he’d rather not meet the pack if he could help it. He certainly had no interest in fighting them for this forest, even if it technically belonged to him.

The sounds returned, stronger this time. Close enough that he could catch heavy, earnest breathing on the wind. The Beast scowled. Perhaps they had found the buck.

 _His_ buck.

 _Damn it,_ he thought, running after them. He hadn’t come all this way just so that lot could take his kill.

He followed their trail to a small clearing, keeping hidden in the trees. Nearly a dozen of them had gathered here, and they were acting strange—snarling, darting forward, and drawing back again. Only when the snow began to lift did the Beast finally see what had drawn them there.

His heart stopped—or perhaps time did, if just for a moment. And then something inside him snapped, and he was barreling into the clearing. The first of the pack was easy enough to take down—a quick swipe of a paw with a strength that shocked him. The next two put up a better fight, but were manageable. It was the fourth that made the Beast truly angry, made him snarl and snap his teeth like the very creatures he was fighting.

But then it was over, and the others had fled. The Beast tried to catch his breath, which was loud and ugly in his ears now that nothing was howling at him. And as soon as the world stopped spinning he tried to understand what he was seeing.

A woman. After all this time…a woman in his woods. Now that it didn’t even matter.

She hadn’t moved from where he’d found her, only now she was surrounded by dead wolves instead of hungry ones. She stared at them no differently than she’d being staring at them before, her eyes empty and unmoving.

He took a single, careful step forward. “Madamois—?” He stopped, spotting the glimmer of gold on her ring finger. Of course he would notice that, even if it made no difference anymore, even in the middle of the forest surrounded by a pack of corpses. “…Madame,” he said, correcting himself.

Still, she didn’t move. He took another step, and cleared his throat. It had been so long since he’d spoken, and barely two words had left his voice dry. “Madame?”

Finally she glanced his way, though only her eyes moved. They rose slowly, gaze resting someplace behind his shoulder. The Beast’s chest grew tight under her watch, yet her eyes held no fear, no disgust, no hint of shock. Though neither was there any gratitude, or even curiosity.

Just…nothing.

When her gaze fell back to the snowy ground, the Beast wondered if she’d even seen him at all. “You’re not…afraid?” he asked, breathless.

She took a deep breath, still staring at snow. “No,” she said at last. “Not of you.” She paused, voice falling to a whisper. “I’ve known one far more frightening.”

The Beast furrowed his brows. He opened his mouth to speak again, but as he did the clouds above shifted and illuminated her small form beneath the full moon. The hem of her dress was torn away, and a bleeding lip had left spots on the delicate fabric. “You’re hurt,” he gasped. “The wolves—”

“The wolves didn’t do this.”

She looked up then, truly looked up. And as his eyes adjusted to the moonlight, the Beast realized his mistake. The woman’s hair, loose and tangled, was swept enough to one side to reveal a neck covered by dark bruises. And what he’d mistaken for shadows around her eye…

He didn’t know what to say.

She looked back at the ground, closing her eyes and sighing. “I suppose I should thank you,” she said. “Though in truth, I wish you’d never found me.”

He looked towards the wolves, lifeless in the snow—and finally understood. He, of all people…yes, he understood. “There are far better ways to die,” he said quietly.

She looked up at him again, for the first time a flicker of emotion crossing her face. “I…” she began. Then her breath grew quick and shallow, and her eyes rolled into the back of her head.

The Beast caught her before she hit the forest floor, pulling her against his chest with some instinct he didn’t realize he had. For a long time he simply held her like that, crouched in the snow, paralyzed as the reality of this situation washed over him.

It was a gust of wind, ruffling her clothes, which woke him from his strange state. He stood quickly, holding her like she was made of glass as he looked westward in the direction of the village. Then he remembered her bruises, turned the opposite way, and moved into the shadows of the great forest.


	2. Chapter 2

_The Beast crouched on the roof of the tower, feeling the stones quake beneath his palms as his home heaved and trembled below him._

_It was over._ She _—that mystery_ she _—never came. No one did. And now everyone else was dead._

_He’d tried so hard to keep them at a distance, for he’d promised himself long ago that he would never let another close to him again. But in the end, it didn’t matter. He’d cared for them regardless, and he’d lost them. Just like he knew he would the moment the curse had been cast._

_And so he’d held them as they left this world, leaving nothing but the adornments of his former life cold and lifeless in his paws. He’d wept for them, every one, though not one was left alive to hear him._

_And then the palace began to tremble, and break, burying the golden and wooden and porcelain corpses before he could move them to safety. He’d barely escaped to the roof without being crushed himself…though now he wondered why he’d bothered._

_“Why must they die, and not me?” he asked the cold night air._

_It answered with a howl, rain beginning to beat down on him as the castle crumbled into a million pieces below._

_“Why?!” he cried, clenching his fists so tight his claws dug into the flesh of his palms. “Answer me!”_

_Whether he was shouting at the sky, or God, or Fate, he didn’t know—whoever it was, they never listened to him anyway. The anger faded at the thought, and he was left empty and cold. Letting his fingers grow limp, he stared into the wet darkness._

_“...Why am I always left behind?” he whispered.  
_

_The tower only trembled again. Closing his eyes, the Beast stood and waited._

_Another jolt beneath him. He fought the urge to crouch, to jump to a safer tower, to flee to the safety of the woods while he still had time. Instead he stood there, squeezing his eyes shut, wishing it would just end already._

_It then did, with a fall and one instant of pain as his body crumpled amid the ruins below._

_And the next morning, he opened his eyes.  
_

* * *

The woman slept through the night. The Beast had set her on the mess of furs that was his bed, spreading his cloak over her before spending a sleepless night beside the fire. So deep and still was her sleep that he repeatedly found himself holding his breath just so he could listen for her own.

It began to snow again as the night grew on, building up to the edges of his single window by the time the sun slipped through its panes. He rose when it did, eating a leg of salted venison for breakfast as the storm finally ceded.

And still she slept, as though she never had before.

The Beast glanced about the space—half cave, half cabin, built into the side of a mountain no man had trespassed in at least the ten years he’d been here. And it looked as much, he realized, embarrassed by the cobwebs and the piles of odds and ends gathered in the corners. He rose at the sight of them, then stopped, not wishing to wake the woman with his movements. So again he sat in the only chair he owned, paws coming together in his lap since they had nothing else to do.

“No…”

He looked up when she spoke, but her eyes were still closed. She moved, for the first time since he’d laid her there, twisting beneath his cloak while her face twitched in distress. “No,” she said again, voice muffled with sleep. She whimpered then, body curling into a ball as she brought her arms to shield her face.

The Beast was standing now, unsure what he should do. “Madame?” he said carefully.

“No!” she screamed, eyes still closed as she let forth a stream of terrible sobs.

The Beast moved over quickly then, heart pounding, crouching and reaching out to wake her. He hesitated, however, second guessing whether it was right to touch her. _“Madame,”_ he said instead, with greater force than before. “Madame, you must wake.”

Her sobs had grown silent, though they still wracked her frame and left tears streaming down her cheeks.

He couldn’t… he couldn’t watch this any longer. And so he reached out, barely touching the side of her arm. “Madame…”

At his touch she finally woke, gasping and staring across the room as though she still weren’t really there. The Beast pulled back quickly, standing and stepping away for fear of frightening her even more than she already was. “Forgive me,” he said. “But you…you were in distress, it seemed.”

She blinked, looking across the room before staring up at him. “Oh,” she said. She closed her eyes, squeezing them shut and bringing a hand up to cover one side of her face. “I’m sorry…”

He shook his head, even though she couldn’t see him. He wanted to say something more, but he wasn’t sure what.

She spoke first. “You…” she began, looking back up at him for a moment longer before turning towards the sunlit window. “This is real, then?” she whispered.

“Yes.”

She sucked in a breath, then struggled to sit up. “I’m not always sure what is real anymore,” she said quietly, wiping her tears with the heel of her palm.

“I…can understand that.”

They were quiet for a long moment. The Beast felt he should look away, but he couldn’t help but stare at her bruised skin and blackened eye. He glanced back at her wedding band, and frowned.

“I have taken your bed,” she said suddenly, moving to untangle herself from the furs. As she did so she winced, grabbing her side.

“No, please,” the Beast said, anxious that she was even more hurt than he’d realized. Should he have examined her for injury last night? But the thought of how he could have done so… He shook his head. “You should rest,” he said, turning and moving to open the hatch that led to his cellar. “You must be hungry.” He’d opened the door wide when he stopped, closing it again and moving to the large water basin beside the door. “And thirsty. Sorry. Here,” he said, reaching for a ladle and cup—before realizing the latter probably wasn’t very clean. He ladled a few scoops of water in an empty pail, cleaning the cup out the best he could and hoping she wasn’t watching too carefully.

God, he had no idea what he was doing. Twenty years without seeing human flesh, ten of them without a living soul at all…he’d forgotten his manners entirely.

Yet the woman didn’t seem to mind, simply accepting the cup of water when he finally brought it over. She drank it quickly. “Thank you,” she said, turning to hand it back to him. She grimaced as she did so, grasping at her side again.

He hesitated for a moment, but felt he must offer. “I have some knowledge of healing,” he explained. “A, um, necessity, when living alone.” _Among other reasons._

She only watched him, not saying a word. Her expression was impossible to read.

He swallowed, but went on. “Your side…” he said dumbly. “I mean, if you have questions, or need me to fetch something…or, um—”

“You may examine it.”

He’d been talking to his lap, but looked up when she spoke. She almost smiled, it seemed, though there was no joy in her eyes. “I do not fear you, remember?” she said. “If you were planning to hurt me…”

 _I would have done so already_. He nodded in understanding, wondering at her brave practicality.

“May I have a moment?” she asked.

Beast nodded again, turning and heading quickly out the door. He hurried to his small barn, found some rags and an empty pail, and filled the latter with snow with a single scoop of his paw. Then he returned to the house and paced for several minutes, wondering if she could hear his heart pounding from out here.

Some quarter hour had passed when he knocked on his own door.

“I’m ready,” came her voice from the other side. She sounded as nervous as he felt.

The Beast nodded yet again—for what reason, he didn’t know—and pushed open the door with the bucket in tow. She lay on her side facing away from him, his cloak pulled up beneath her chin. He moved over, kneeling slowly beside her.

“It seems…I’m afraid it looks worse than I thought,” she admitted, glancing back at him. Slowly, she pulled the cloak down, and beneath it her shift had been pulled away far enough to reveal the length of her back. With one arm she had pressed her crumpled dress against her front, holding it tightly in place.

And yet the Beast almost didn’t notice these things—for a very large, very dark bruise covered the length of her waist and crept up towards the center of her spine. It hurt just to look at, but he didn’t dare let his gaze linger anywhere else at the moment.

“I don’t understand,” she went on, biting her lip and glancing back once again. “I hardly felt it last night…”

“You were, um… likely in shock,” he explained.

“Oh.”

 ** _I’m_** _likely in shock,_ he added internally. He gave a measured exhale, begging his stupid male brain to stop thinking about stupid male brain things. “It would help to know what happened,” he managed.

She stiffened, pulling her makeshift cover closer to her chest. “I fell off a horse.”

He frowned at that, glancing towards her black eye.

She sighed. “Forgive me, I’m used to lying about such things,” she admitted. She took a shallow breath then, and her voice grew shaky. “I was…th-thrown. Against a table.”

The Beast swallowed. “I understand,” he said gently. Except he didn’t understand at all. Had he really deserved his fate while the man who had done this ran free in the world?

 _You were a different kind of evil,_ a voice inside reminded him. _The kind who hurt hundreds without ever laying eyes on them. The kind who killed the people in your care with your failure._

_You deserve everything you were given._

“I’m going to touch a few places now,” he continued, burying those old thoughts.

“That’s fine,” she said. She closed her eyes, and bit her lip hard.

He reached out, pressing against a single place near the bruise where her kidney should be. She flinched as he did, and he pulled away. “That hurts?”

“Only a little,” she said, shaking her head. “Sorry, I didn’t…it wasn’t from the pain.”

She was afraid, despite her claims. Maybe not of him, specifically… but of this. The thought left a dark feeling in his heart, but also a determination to put her at ease.

“And your stomach…here?” he asked, reaching around carefully to prod her abdomen. “Does that hurt?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“And your rib cage…here?”

He’d only barely pressed his finger at a place a few inches higher when she gasped. “Yes…yes, that hurts."

He removed the pressure. “I just need to feel for abnormalities,” he said, brushing two large fingers along her lower rib cage. Her skin, even damaged and bruised, was incredibly soft. He pointedly ignored that, assessing the damage quickly before pulling the cloak over her and sitting back on his wolfish heels. “And is breathing painful?” he asked, clearing his throat.

She took in a deep breath, and winced. “Oh. Yes.”

“But you don’t feel ill?”

She shook her head. “Only tired.”

He nodded, humming. “I think your organs are safe, but you have at least a couple broken ribs,” he explained. “Maybe more, but I, um…don’t want to prod it any more than I have.”

She looked back at him, face growing pale. “I can’t see a doctor,” she said. “Not in the village...”

So that’s why she’d let him so close. He understood it now. Waiting for her was a husband so violent that she would let a monstrous stranger touch her over risking a return to her own home. That darkness swelled in his chest once again, but he buried it for later. It wouldn’t do any good here. “I’ve broken a number of ribs myself,” he said instead. Actually, he’d broken them all several times over, but he kept that to himself for now. “They are painful, and take time to heal, but usually require nothing more than rest to do so. As long as you don’t grow ill over the next few days, you should heal on your own.”

She let out a breath, closing her eyes in relief.

“Here,” he said, turning and reaching for the bucket. “The snow will numb some of the pain.”

She watched as he packed a small handful of it into one rag and tucked it against her side. “I am imposing on you,” she said, wrinkles creasing her brow.

“You’re not imposing,” he insisted. _God, no. Not at all._

She fell quiet for a long moment, lying still while he placed a second bundle of cold against the injury. “How long?” she asked at last. “Will it take, I mean. For me to recover.”

“A few weeks, I’d guess. Though you should be back on your feet long before that.”

“I should not…” she began, looking back towards the bright window while settling deeper into the furs. “I really shouldn’t trouble you for so long…”

“You have somewhere to go, then?” he asked.

She bit her lip at that, and lowered her eyes. She shook her head.

“Madame,” he said, picking up the empty bucket and rising to his feet. “I’m afraid you leave me no choice. I am keeping you prisoner until you are better.”

Her mouth fell open in surprise, then—realizing he was joking—offered one short, delightful laugh at that. And winced.

“Ah,” the Beast said, trying not to smile at his success. “Laughing makes it worse, I’m afraid.”

She smiled, somewhat painfully, but still—it was a real smile. “Thank you,” she whispered, and with another breath sunk further into the blankets.

"You're welcome." He watched her for a moment, then cleared his throat and looked away. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a cook,” he said, moving back towards the cellar. He threw it open, climbing down the ladder to find something for her to eat. Of course, he knew all he would find was a mountain of dried meats and cheese, and he frowned at it all as he scoured the space for something less primeval. Didn’t he have anything besides...?

 _There._ “I’ve got eggs,” he called up, tugging the small basket out from behind several large bottles of whisky before climbing back up the way he’d come. “How do you like them? I think I could—”

He stopped talking as soon as he emerged, for across the space she lay fast asleep once again. Setting the basket down, he gingerly closed the cellar door. And then, after a moment of hesitation, he looked back towards where she slept.

Her smile _had_ been real, hadn’t it? And that laugh… perhaps she would be all right after all.

Perhaps the reason he was still alive was to make sure of it.

The thought left him with a strange, warm feeling. One he hadn’t felt since… well, long before curses and magic had ever entered his life. He moved towards the small window, resting a paw against the wall and staring out over the hills of white-topped pines. Of everywhere he could have been last night, everyone he could have come across… it had to mean something, right?

**_It means she has terrible luck_.**

He scowled. The voice was back. The only companion he’d had for a decade, and one he loathed to the core. It was an irritating voice—youthful, arrogant, and utterly condescending.

The voice of the prince he’d once been.

The Beast grit his teeth. _I saved her life,_ he thought back.

 ** _And now you’re a hero!_** the prince laughed.

_Shut up.  
_

The voice only grew dark, and cold. **_The hero who failed his whole household_.**

He clenched his fist. _You failed them too._

 ** _Failed an entire kingdom, if I recall,_** the prince went on, ignoring him. **_And after all that, you still think you’re the one to help her?_**

The Beast paused, glancing back at the woman as she slept. _Yes,_ he told the voice. _Because unlike you, I’m actually going to try._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note some updated trigger warnings in the tags.

_“You know, Belle… you’re nearly as beautiful undressed as I imagined you’d be.”_

_Belle pulled the sheets tighter around her, curled in on herself as she faced the wall. Her hands trembled as a terrible ache pulsed through the most tender parts of her. It had been worse… so much worse than she’d even imagined._

_“My father,” she managed. Her throat was dry, everything spent on tears shed in the darkness when he’d finally fallen asleep. She swallowed, and went on. “You promised.”_

_“And I always keep my promises.” She heard his heavy boot falls come close. “Come, let’s fetch him together.”_

_She flinched when the bed sank beside her, and every muscle in her body stiffened as his hand reached beneath the covers and found its way to her skin. “Do try to look presentable before we leave the house,” he said, rough fingers brushing up her shoulders and pushing the hair away from her face. “I would very much like to show you off today.”_

_Belle said nothing. And so he leaned close, and whispered her ear. “Can you do that for me, Madame Gaston?”_

* * *

The panic gripped Belle before she was fully awake. She seemed to feel it all at once, blood pounding through the veins of her neck and the ends of her fingers, breath tight and raging against her damaged ribs. Her stomach was in knots, and she could feel a bead of sweat trailing down her temple.

“Madame?”

 _Madame Gaston._ She heard heavy footfalls, and the terror swelled in her breast until she finally opened her eyes saw who they belonged to. It was the great creature who had rescued her; that giant, gentle stranger her mind must have conjured up as a final act of desperation. Though he seemed unlike anything she would have imagined on her own.

He was kneeling beside her now, heavy brows pushed close together and ruffling the fur between them. It was mostly a chestnut brown, that fur, but for some patches of grey that had gathered along his chin and around the horns atop his head. Strange how the sight of his fur and claws only set her heart at ease. No doubt this being could ravish her, tear her limb from limb, even cook her up for dinner if he wished…

But at least it wasn’t _him._

“Madame, are you well?”

 _Madame Gaston._ Belle sucked in a careful breath, remembering her ribs. “Yes,” she said, coming back to the present. “I’m all right.”

“You’re shaking.” His hand—or paw, she supposed—was holding hers now, grip firm as one thumb pressed against her wrist. “And your pulse is high. Are you sure you’re—”

“It’s always like that.” She sighed, closing her eyes. “Forgive me. It’s just I have a… weak disposition, is all.”

A weak disposition. Or in other words, how she always woke in a panic; how she couldn’t quite remember things she felt she should; how she hadn’t managed to calm her trembling fingers in years. Things a younger version of herself would have laughed at.

Weak. That girl had never been weak.

Belle felt something soft touch her forehead. She opened her eyes again, surprised to see the great beast with his own closed while he felt her brow. He held the back of his paw there for another moment, then nodded to himself and pulled away. “No fever,” he said. “But are you certain you’re well?”

“I promise, this is quite normal.”

He hummed deeply, but didn’t argue the point any further. “Well, you should eat something at least, now that you’re awake,” he said.

“Actually…” Belle trailed off, grunting as she attempted to sit up. She made it halfway and stopped, breathless as she looked up. “You wouldn’t happen to have a, um… privy, would you?”

He blinked, then his eyes went wide. “Oh! Of course, I—of course, forgive me,” he stammered. He looked even more embarrassed than she felt, hands hovering about her shoulders as though uncertain exactly what they should do.

 _Good lord, I wish he’d let those wolves kill me,_ Belle thought.

But then his expression changed, and he closed the distance. How hands so large and clawed could feel gentle was a mystery, but Belle let him steady her. And in the same moment, she realized that her vision had grown blurry. “I’m sorry,” she said, reaching around to grasp at her aching side now burning like fire against her. She blinked away the foolish tears, frustrated with her weakness all over again and how she couldn’t even keep herself together in front of a stranger.

Something shifted beneath the blankets. Then, in one grand motion, he gathered her against his chest and rose to his feet. Belle should have fought this, if only to protect her own dignity, but she only grew limp against him as he made for the door. She had nearly cried from pain in front of him, and was literally being carried to the privy at this moment. Not to mention what he’d stopped her from doing last night…

Belle squeezed her eyes shut, fighting more tears and realizing she didn’t have any dignity left to save.

When he opened the door, the cold hit like a slap to the face— _well, almost,_ Belle thought darkly—and she turned towards his chest as he plowed downhill through the fresh powder. He was wearing a shirt now, she realized. He hadn’t been before, had he? The collar was terribly worn, and there was a hole in the fabric beside her fingers. He must have sewn these giant clothes himself… but if so, then why not repair them?

Belle glanced up, and finding him focused on the trail ahead, she reached out to touch the fabric. It was impossibly soft, and must have once been very fine.

How peculiar.

“I apologize. It’s nothing much,” he was saying, and Belle turned to see a rather large—if lopsided—outhouse at the edge of the woods. He put her down gently on her feet, throwing the furs over his shoulder and quickly replacing them with his cloak. Belle reached out and pulled the thin fabric closer around her with one hand, raising the other to her head. She felt dizzy.

“Will you…” he started from behind her, and paw still on her shoulder to steady her. He cleared his throat. “I mean, do you think you can manage… on your own?”

And in that moment Belle realized she’d just discovered one last drop of dignity she could cling to. And lightheaded or not, cling to it should would—fiercely. “Yes,” she said, reaching for the door. “Yes, I can.”

He nodded, holding the door open while she hobbled inside. With it securely shut behind her, Belle turned and reached for the latrine’s wooden lid, bracing herself for a stench. Yet she found none; only the faint smell of hay and, surprisingly, something floral. She glanced into the dark pit with a wary curiosity. It must go very deep into the earth.

Once she’d relieved herself, she peeked back out the door. Her caretaker—perhaps that was how she should think of him—was gone, though she could hear someone lumbering about the small cabin up the hill. And so she shut the door again, paused, then undid the laces of her dress.

It really was bad this time. There was no mirror in this small space, and for that Belle was grateful. She touched the bruises along her waist, wincing, then felt her neck and the skin around her eye. Touching them brought back the memory, and with it the trembling in her hands and a cold terror in her heart. And then those sensations formed into words.

 ** _You deserve this,_** they said. ** _You deserve this and more after what you’ve done. The beast should have let you die—_**

A quiet knock jolted her to the present. “Just a moment!” she gasped, pulling her shift back up and pressing it to her chest.

“Take your time,” came his voice, muffled through the door. “I’ve only brought some water and towels, should you need them.”

“Oh,” she said. Her heart was still racing. “Thank you.”

She waited until she heard his heavy footfalls pad away in the snow. Then, with a steadying breath, she cracked open the door once again. A bucket of steaming water sat there, with two spotless mahogany towels hanging over its edge. Belle reached out slowly to touch them; she knew what towels were, but she’d never actually seen one. Even the wealthiest families in the village could never afford such a luxury.

 _A spell?_ she wondered, eyes wide. Belle thought of his small house, so strangely built against the rocky cliff, with nothing within to rest on but a pile of furs and one battered armchair. She thought of his clothes, worn nearly to the point of rags. Why use magic for towels, but nothing else?

 _Or perhaps he’s simply a thief,_ she realized, but quickly put the thought out of her mind. People did worse things. And imagining him stealing from some wealthy house was far more comforting than the alternative.

Belle was pulled from her thoughts by the smell of that sweet something once again. She turned, wondering if it weren’t all magic after all, but then she saw the source of it: a small splash of purple color tucked away in the corner that she’d missed before. She reached for it, bringing back a single bar of half-used soap and lifting it to her nose. A bemused smile crossed her lips at the very clear scent of lavender.

Belle quirked a brow, and glanced back in the direction of his odd dwelling. Who _was_ he?

Well, whoever he was, he was waiting for her when she finally emerged, ready to help her back up to the house in the same manner as before. Belle was more awake now after cleaning the grime and dried blood from her skin, and thus even more aware of her current predicament. True, his chest was warm and his arms strong and gentle beneath her, but that only served to make her feel more like a child being carted off to bed.

“I’m quite embarrassed,” she admitted.

He glanced down at her, then behind him. “Why?” he asked. “Everyone does it.”

Belle cocked her head. “Does…it?” She looked back at the outhouse, blinked once, and laughed. He chuckled himself—a deep laugh, as though it were trapped inside his throat and couldn’t quite escape.

“Ah!” she grimaced a moment later, shifting in his arms at the pain in her side. “I forgot. No laughing.”

“It was my fault.”

“Yes, it was,” she agreed, trying to contain a lingering smile. “You should have warned me you are inclined to bathroom humor.”

He grimaced—or perhaps it was a smile after all. It was difficult to read such a different sort of face. “I’m… I wouldn’t say _inclined_ to it,” he said. “I have a wide repertoire.”

Belle let herself smile again. What was happening? Had she really laughed— _twice_ —in a single day, when she hadn’t done so in years?

Had she really laughed… after what she’d done?

As if reading her thoughts, her caretaker had gone very quiet. She looked up, and caught him staring at her ring finger and the little glimmer of gold she’d forgotten was still there. He cleared his throat, looking back at the house. “Madame, what—”

_Madame Gaston. Madame Gaston. Madame—_

“Belle,” she said suddenly. “My name is Belle.”

“Belle,” he repeated, and hummed. “That is a fitting name.”

People always said that. What else would they say—that it wasn’t? “It was more fitting when I was younger,” she said, embarrassed as she always by the subject. By the beauty that had ruined her life.

He frowned, glancing down at her briefly. “You can’t be twenty-five.”

Another nicety, of course. “You are kind. I am thirty-six this spring.”

The great being stopped short on the path, looking down at her with what seemed to be genuine surprise. “I’m also…” he began, but swallowed and looked away. “I mean, I also have a spring birthday.”

“Oh,” she said, puzzled by his reaction. And the fact that someone so mysterious and possibly magical had something as ordinary as a birthday. “You… do?”

“Mm.” He continued to walk.

Belle wondered about him for a moment, surprised to find herself increasingly curious. It was a feeling she’d once experienced over a great number of things, but hadn’t felt in a very long time. “So you live alone?” she found herself asking.

He hummed an affirmative, then stopped in place once more. “Well, not entirely. I have a cow.”

Belle brightened. “A cow? All the way up here?”

“She’s a mountain breed. I, um… I like cheese.” He shrugged.

Belle brightened further, and felt the sudden urge to laugh a third time. She recalled her ribs, however, and held back. “So,” she went on. “Just you, and a cow—”

“Bonne.”

She smiled. “You, and Bonne.”

He nodded, and seemed to brighten a bit himself. He continued up the hill, and soon they were back at the house. He had moved the bed of furs closer to the fire, and several poorly folded blankets now sat nearby.

As he laid her back down, Belle ventured on. “And who is this _you_?” she asked.

His eyes went wide, and he pulled back. “I…” He hesitated, bringing one giant paw to the back of his neck and glancing sideways. “I’m, um…”

“Forgive me. I shouldn’t pry,” Belle said quickly, and she meant it. She looked away. “I’ve burdened you enough as it is.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s all right,” he said. Then he sucked in a sharp breath. “I was once called Adam. But he was a miserable fellow.”

Such a normal name. Belle wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it wasn’t that. “He cannot have been so bad, I think,” she observed.

He offered a great sigh, reaching for one of the blankets and pulling it over her. “Believe me, he was.”

Belle still wasn’t sure she believed him. And at the moment, she wasn’t sure she _wanted_ to believe him. “What about when this Adam was a child?” she asked. “Surely he was not so miserable then.”

“I…” He trailed off, looking troubled, and stared towards the window for a long moment. “You’re right,” he said at last, looking back at her. “He wasn’t. Why do you ask?”

Belle settled beneath the warm blanket, watching the flames flicker beside them. “My papa used to tell me something,” she said. “That the child never leaves us. That when things seem hopeless, that whenever I felt lost…” She felt her throat grow tight, and the final words were nothing more than a whisper. “That I only needed to find her again.”

She should not have said it aloud. It hurt too badly. Hurt too much to speak of the only person in this world who had ever really loved her; hurt too much to know how much she had failed him. Belle turned onto her side, feeling her body curl in on itself as she tried to shut it all away.

But then there was a new warmth covering her head to toe as the great beast draped another quilt over her. “I haven’t really needed a name in years,” he said quietly. Then he paused. “Bonne doesn’t talk, you see.”

And for a moment, Belle forgot her hurt and smiled.

“But I suppose…” he went on. “I suppose it would be useful to have one now.”

She turned back. “Thank you, Monsieur Adam.”

He shook his head. “I’m no monsieur. The name alone is fine.”

“As is mine.”

At her age, the use of given names was usually reserved for intimate friends. Or husband and wife. And so something seemed to shift between them now, which is perhaps what led him to brave his own question.

“Belle.” The word was rich on his tongue, and Belle found herself fond of the way it sounded when he said it. “Why… why do you not fear me?” he asked, frowning. “Truly.”

 _Because I didn’t care who or what killed me,_ Belle realized _. Not after what I’d done._ “I am familiar with the tales,” she said instead. “From what they say, it is foolish to offend a magical being.”

Adam looked uncomfortable. “Ah. Yes.” He cleared his throat. “You are much wiser than I once was.”

Belle blinked. _So mysterious!_

He cleared his throat. “Supper!” he announced, slapping his thighs and standing in one great motion. “How do you like your eggs?”

“Oh,” Belle said, feeling queasy. “Oh, I’m so sorry. But please, anything but eggs.”

He had already entered the cellar, but pulled himself back up at her reply. He stared at her for a moment, but only nodded. “No eggs,” he agreed. “Eh… I’d probably burn them anyway.” He furrowed his brows, and thought. “I need to go milk Bonne. Perhaps some fresh cream and… salted venison, if you can stomach it? I’m sorry, that’s all I really have.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Belle said. “Thank you, Adam.”

He was climbing back out of the floor but froze when she spoke, looking up in surprise. Then, as though remembering he’d just told her his name two minutes ago, smiled wryly to himself and continued to shut the door behind him.

Meanwhile, Belle found herself once again thinking about the way it sounded when he’d said her own name. And how she didn’t seem to hate it so much when he did.

“Belle?”

 _Yes, like that._ Then she blinked, and looked up. Adam was halfway out the front door, glancing about the room before looking back at her. “I just… will you be all right?” he asked. “For a few minutes… alone.”

Belle knew what he meant, and was ashamed. The poor man couldn’t even step outside his own house without worrying she would hurt herself. “I will,” she promised. “I believe I’m starting to feel like myself again.”

_Madame Gaston no more. No sir, not me._

He gave a short nod, and shut the door. Once she heard him scampering off down the hill, she reached beneath the covers and slipped off her wedding ring. She didn’t need it anymore.

After all, Gaston was dead.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to be redundant, but if you haven’t checked the tags and could be trigged, please do – I’ve added some new ones. Also, the rating is officially M now, but won’t go higher than that.

_The Beast woke with a gasp, sitting straight up and sucking in several long, labored breaths. He looked around. A forest of beautiful silver firs surrounded him, though he’d chosen a lonely, half-dead black pine for the task. It had seemed appropriate at the time, and was sturdy enough. But it hadn’t been, had it? For here he was, lying on the ground, still very much alive. Frowning deeply, the Beast closed his eyes and reached for his throat._

_And there it was, a rope as thick as his wrist, wound in a noose._

_He looked up to where he’d secured it, a heavy branch some thirty feet up. But the rope was here now, still tight around his neck while the rest lie in a heap beside him. So it hadn’t held. Perhaps the knots weren’t tight enough; he probably did them wrong. He did everything wrong._

_He reached for the noose again, yanking it hard to pull it loose. Then he lifted it over his head and held it in his enormous palm._ No, _he thought slowly, staring at the thick twine. It didn’t fail. He had heard his neck crack; he had felt it._

_He had died._

_He gripped the rope hard, then with a terrible roar threw it into the brush. It caught on a thin branch and hung in the air, mocking him. He roared again, and all went numb._

_By the time he came to himself again, he had uprooted every young tree in the vicinity and scarred the rest. He stood in the middle of it all, panting, splinters sticking out from beneath his claws and leaving trails of blood in their wake. His strength was gone now, and so he knelt slowly, knees hitting the soft earth and head falling to his chest. And then, with nothing left, he started to cry._

**_Good god,_ ** _the prince inside groaned._

_The Beast sniffed, wiping his eyes on his arm in shame. Then he pulled back, staring at his damaged paws, at the blood that was already slowing… and blinked. He reached out, tugged the wooden fragments out from under his nails, and stared at his claws again. The blood had stopped now, and new skin was already filling in the wounds. His eyes grew wide. “No,” he gasped. He watched in horror as his broken claws grew back next, slowly, almost imperceptibly—but grow back they did._

_“No,” he cried again, hands quaking, a new dread filling him head to toe. He stood, staring at his fingers and willing it all to stop. “No, no, NO!”_

_But it wouldn’t stop, and now small specks of fur were starting to grow in as well. And then, in that single moment, he recalled all the times he’d tried to leave this world, and finally… finally understood why he’d always woken up._

_The Beast roared again, though his voice was so hoarse only a faint groan came out. There was nothing left to destroy around him, and so he let his new claws tear though the flesh of his own arms, his chest… his face._

_The pain didn’t matter. It would all be good as new soon enough, and that was the worst punishment of all._

_The Beast was crying again, but even the prince had left him alone now. He raised one set of bloodied fingers, letting their razor-sharp ends rest in the hollow beneath his jaw. He could feel the heavy pulse there, his life pumping beneath his fingertips. For while he could no longer hope for death, he could at least leave this world for a minute. For a moment._

_And so the Beast snarled, closed his eyes, and sliced open his own throat._

* * *

Adam stood in a bank of snow, a shallow hole dug into the earth beneath the ice. In his hand was a large burlap sack, filled with a dozen sundry objects from his home and barn. A hunting knife, a shotgun, a hammer and ax. A tattered length of rope.

He knew them all well.

Belle had been here nearly a week now, and Adam wasn’t sure how much longer it would be before she could move about on her own again. He had few worries where her rotten husband was concerned—that would be easy enough to handle, if it came to it. It was protecting Belle from herself that had him really worried.

Except this was harder than he’d expected. Memories of his own attempts came flooding back to him as he quietly gathered up every potentially fatal tool he could find throughout the house and cellar. Memories of waking up from death to healing bones and bloodied hands and the sickness of a body that had repaired itself dozens of times. He’d given up any hope of death after some months of trying, though it had taken years after that to give up the attempts entirely.

Adam brought a hand to his head, and took a steadying breath. _You’re doing this for her,_ he told himself. _You’re doing this for Belle._

 ** _Why?_** asked the prince. He’d been watching silently from the back of Adam’s mind, but now he rushed forward, snarling and angry. **_She’s one of them! Sick, filthy peasants. Her kind took them from you!_**

Adam ignored him. The prince was young, hurt, and anxious for someone to blame. Someone to punish. And he never listened to reason.

And so Adam tossed the bag into the pit, and reached for the shovel to cover them up. But then he paused, stared at it for a moment, and threw it in with the rest. Looking around, he spotted a fallen tree, which he dragged over and set carefully over the hole instead.

When he returned to the house, Belle was still sleeping. He’d counted on that, waking early in the morning to complete the unpleasant task. Certainly knowing about it would only make her feel worse. It would have made him feel so, anyway. In fact, he was still feeling oddly raw, and so set a kettle on the stove with the intent of relaxing with a warm drink in his old chair. Down in the cellar he found some old tea leaves, grabbed a cup and—remembering Belle—another, and headed back up the short ladder.

He set the mismatching cups on the table: one a well-used wooden goblet, the other a porcelain mug painted a pale-ish blue. Both stolen, admittedly, but he doubted anyone had really missed them. In fact, he thieved in such a way that he hoped no one _did_ notice what was missing. As much as he liked to think he did so with noble intentions, the truth was it was simply a lot easier to keep stealing from a house when no one knew you had been there.

Adam sprinkled the tea leaves over the two cups, thinking—not for the first time—how peculiar his situation had become. And while he did so, the prince returned.

 ** _A spot of tea!_** he mocked. _**Mrs. Potts would be so proud.**_

Adam’s grip tightened, cracking the handle off the mug. _Don’t you dare,_ he thought. _Don’t you fucking dare—_

 ** _I don’t see why you’re so upset,_** the prince shrugged. ** _You let them die, after all._**

Adam stared at the broken cup, feeling sick all over again at such a physical reminder. _He’d only been a child,_ he thought, the old sorrow filling his chest. _A child who died because of me—_

“Good morning.”

Adam started, turning to see his guest rising from her slumber. Belle stretched where she sat, slowly and with care due to her injury. A pleasant little hum escaped her as she interlaced her fingers above her head, cheeks flushed from the warmth of the fire beside her. Not until she returned her hands to her lap and looked up at him did Adam realize he hadn’t answered her. “Mm, morning,” he said dumbly.

Belle was raking her fingers through her hair now, pulling out the braid she’d slept in and letting the long waves rest over her shoulder. As she worked, a single thin streak of grey near her left temple fell loose from the sea of warm brown, curling in a way that seemed to defy the rest. When Belle spotted it, she frowned, twirling it tightly between one finger before tucking it back behind her ear. It fell loose again a moment later.

The hiss of the kettle made Adam start, and he realized to his mild horror that he’d been staring. He turned quickly and set the broken cup aside, the painful thoughts it had brought banished for the moment. “You slept well?” he asked, focusing intently on the movement of his own paws.

“Oh, yes. So very well,” Belle said. “It’s been so long since I’ve woken without…”

When she didn’t finish her thought, Adam looked back. Belle had a hand resting on the back of her neck, staring away from him and into the flames. Her hair and eyes glowed gold in the light of the fire, and a pretty swath of freckles covered her nose and cheeks. In all truth, it was becoming harder for him to ignore how very beautiful she was now that the bruises around her eye were healing. Even before, beneath spots of purple and blue, it was obvious. He wished it was just as obvious how _married_ she was.

Adam frowned, and looked back towards her hand. Then he blinked hard, and looked again, for the ring that had been there before was gone. When had she taken it off?

He sucked in a sharp breath. _That’s none of your business,_ he told himself. He looked away, though only a moment passed and he was wondering again. No doubt she must have hated the reminder of that violent man, he decided quietly; the pain in her side was probably enough.

Soon he helped Belle to the privy, as he’d been doing each morning and night—though she insisted she could walk today. She traipsed bravely through the snow as he followed close behind to steady her, and Adam was grateful he’d had enough foresight to shovel out the path before hiding the tool away with the rest this morning.

The journey took its toll on Belle, and so after another breakfast of strips of venison and Bonne’s milk she opted to return to the bed for a nap. The idea of tea had lost its appeal to Adam, but he brought some over to her as she settled down. “You’re certain had enough to eat?” he asked.

“Mm,” she hummed softly, blowing on the tea and wrapping her fingers around the warm cup.

He nodded, but made a mental note to go out for supplies soon. He couldn’t feed her milk and meat forever; humans needed more than that. But when to do it? Was she well enough to leave alone?

The thought tired him again, and so he set it aside for now, poured himself a large serving of milk in a glass he hadn’t yet managed to break, and settled in his large, old armchair. He’d moved it to the window so Belle could sleep with the warmth of the fire, and so stared out at the snowy landscape he’d seen a dozen times while trying not to think about the very lovely person sitting in his bed.

This was no small task, apparently, and in a desperate attempt to distract himself he reached between the arm and the seat cushion of the chair and found an alternate activity— _Guinevere and Lancelot,_ the last book he’d been reading in this spot _._ He pulled out the old novel, flipping through the yellowing pages until he found the approximate place he’d last left it.

He was not two words in, however, when he caught a small gasp from across the room. He looked up, but Belle glanced away as soon as he did.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She nodded several times in rapid succession, staring pointedly into her cup. “Yes, thank you.”

He frowned, but returned to his book. Yet he could sense a slight shift from across the room, certain her eyes were on him once again. When he looked up again, she started, eyes darting to the side. “You’re sure I can’t get you anything?” he tried.

“No! I-I mean, yes. Yes, I’m sure,” she insisted, waving away the offer while still refusing to meet his eyes.

Adam hummed deeply, looking back at the page but not truly seeing it. He waited only a minute, then looked up without warning. Finally he caught Belle staring at him, and, unable to pretend otherwise, she flushed.

Slowly, he closed the cover _._ “You’re very curious about me, aren’t you?”

Belle kept her eyes on the book, but bit her lip. Then she sighed, and finally looked back at him. “I am, I must admit.”

He wasn’t offended. In fact, he was amused more than anything. “And what is your guess?” he asked, tucking the novel back into the cushion and lifting his glass to his lips.

“That’s the thing,” she said, seeming to come to herself as she set her drink aside and sat tall. “I’ve heard of no mythical being quite like you, and it’s obvious you are well-raised. Which leaves me with either a highly inbred aristocrat, or some kind of undiscovered forest god.”

She’d caught him off guard. So much so, in fact, that he’d laughed without meaning too and inhaled a rather large mouthful of his drink.

“Not even close?” Belle asked, with far too much innocence.

Adam coughed roughly, and wiped his face with the fur of his arm while hoping she hadn’t noticed milk draining from his nose. “Actually, um…” he managed. He coughed again, and cleared his throat, taking a moment in his decision. “It’s true that I was a… noble. Of sorts,” he finally conceded. No need to go into specifics there. “Long ago. But what made you say it?”

She raised a brow at him, followed by a hand as she began to count off. “You place a napkin in your lap to eat,” she began, raising a finger. “You always hold my door, you knock _and_ greet me each time you enter the house, you put a high priority on smelling nice—”

“I smell nice?”

“—and to top it all off, you have better posture than all the schoolteachers in France,” she finished, all five fingers waggling at him in the air.

He quickly hunched his shoulders forward. “Okay, but I… I have cobwebs,” he stammered, waving towards the ceiling.

 ** _Don’t point those out!_ **cried the prince.

Belle grinned, and raised a sixth finger on her other hand. “And you don’t have a clue how to clean. Definitely high born.” She returned her hands to her lap, shrugging. “Besides, you told me so yourself: ‘I’m no Monsieur,’” She eyed him with a look so full of certainty he wondered if she were truly the same woman she’d been five minutes ago. “Isn’t that right, _my lord?”_

“D-don’t—” he stammered, before raising a stern finger. _“Don’t_ call me that.”

Belle only smirked.

 _Damn,_ Adam thought. She was good… or maybe he was just more obvious that he thought. _She thinks I smell nice?_

“Which only leaves me more curious,” Belle continued. “For I have a very hard time believing you’ve always lived like this.”

She watched him carefully again, but his throat had suddenly gone dry. But why? What did it matter now, if she knew the tale? The spell had ended, finalized forever in broken stone and death. Except… he would have to admit what he once was. That he’d been even more of a monster than he was now. Yes, he’d implied as much, but to actually admit he’d been so bad as to earn this curse... but on the other hand, perhaps if he shared his past, he would learn more of hers. He was wildly curious, after all.

“I’m sorry,” Belle said suddenly, looking into her lap. “I’m prying again. You needn’t—”

But she fell quiet when he stood, watching as he moved to sit on the floor beside her. Belle smiled, anticipation in her eyes as she moved over and patted the space beside her. Adam hesitated, a knee already resting on the hard floor, but accepted the offer and settled on one side the blankets.

“I was born into a very wealthy home,” he began. His heart was pounding like mad, but he sucked in a breath and went on. “Naturally, I was spoiled beyond repair, and by the time I’d grown… I had learned to neglect and torment everyone beneath me.”

It was almost the truth. Yes, he had been spoiled, but that isn’t what drove him to hate those beneath him, to hate the kind of people he’d been crowned to protect. The kind of people like Belle. No, he couldn’t share that piece of it, not with her.

He glanced up then, wondering if he’d still shared too much. But Belle only watched him, eyes alight with interest as she rested her chin atop her knees. And so he went on, explaining _that_ night, the terrible lesson he’d been forced to learn.

“Wait—how old were you?” she asked suddenly.

“Seventeen.”

Her eyes went wide. “But that’s so young!”

Adam waved off her concern. “I was old enough to know better,” he said. “And old enough that my actions had serious consequences for others. Trust me, there is no need for pity there.”

Belle hummed. She didn’t seem convinced. “But… what about your parents?” she tried. “Surely you alone were not wholly responsible.”

“They were long gone by then.” _All of them were._ That was a dangerous topic, and so he shook his head and left it alone. “Everyone suffers. It’s not an excuse to make others suffer too.”

Belle stared at him for a moment, the hearth illuminating her side in an orange glow. And then, all at once, her expression softened. Adam wasn’t sure what he’d said to make it do so, but the way she was looking at him sent a warmth straight into his toes that was definitely not from the fire. Having no idea what to think of that, he looked back at his paws, clawing absently at the fur where he sat, and went on.

It wasn’t much further into the story when Belle chimed in again. “A dancing candlestick?” she asked, raising a brow. “You’re pulling my leg.”

“Belle,” he said flatly. “I’m a giant talking chimera.”

She blushed a little. “Touché. Go on.”

He did, and found himself telling her all about them, about their awful attempts to cheer him up, about the lonely nights that he’d done to himself and the hopelessness that fell over them all as the years wore on and on. He’d expected it would be difficult to voice his history aloud, yet once he’d started it was hard to stop, as though his mind had been aching for years to lay it all forth to the first person who came along and was willing to hear him.

“No one ever came?” Belle asked, visibly concerned as the story neared its close. “But that’s not fair…”

“I could have searched for her,” Adam shrugged. “Tried, actually, but every time I came close to a town I changed my mind. Truth be told…” He sighed, and looked away. “I was nothing but a great coward.”

Belle frowned. “I don’t see what you could have done in that situation anyway. Except…” She paused. “You could have stolen a maiden, I suppose.”

Adam’s brows shot up, and he looked back at her with wide eyes.

She laughed at his expression, though something lay beneath it, tainting her amusement. “I’m only kidding,” she said, then quickly changed the subject. “And what of your household?”

He’d forgotten this part was coming. The old guilt, that terrible sorrow—it gripped him all at once, and he could only shake his head. _God, I should never have shared the tale at all,_ he realized, ducking his head and squeezing his eyes shut.

“I’m so sorry,” he heard Belle whisper. And then he felt something—a hand, warm and soft, resting on his forearm and squeezing ever so gently.

Adam looked up in shock. If he thought the look she’d given him earlier had done something to him, it was nothing compared to what she was doing to him now. His skin seemed to melt beneath the fur where she touched him, and at once a hundred memories from a lifetime ago came flooding over him—every touch he’d ever received compounded into that single moment, as though it hadn’t been twenty years since he’d felt them.

Belle’s thumb brushed over his fur once, then twice. It was so tender, and so gentle, that Adam felt the sudden urge to cry. “You have had so much time to think on this,” she said softly. “Too much, I think. I am sorry you’ve had no one to share in your pain.”

That only made it harder to hold back his foolish tears. With great effort he managed, however, and recovered enough to reply. “I admit, I feel somewhat lighter having spoken it aloud.” He grimaced then, a surge of vulnerability overwhelming him. “And thoroughly embarrassed.”

Belle smiled, and shook her head. “Don’t be. I’ve always loved a story.”

Adam watched her, and wondered to himself for one long, silent moment. “And you?” he finally asked. “Could… could such help you?”

He regretted the question immediately, for she pulled her hand back and wrapped her arms around her knees. “Mine isn’t a good story,” she said. She looked back at the fire, sucked in a breath, and managed a pained smile. “There isn’t any magic.”

“There is now,” he said, and she looked back at him with a puzzled expression. He smiled a little, and went on. “You’re housed up with a great and powerful forest god.”

Belle laughed, though Adam could tell she was retreating into herself once again. “I’ve kept you long enough,” he said, pushing himself to one knee and rising from the floor. “Rest. I won’t be far.”

Belle nodded, sinking back into the furs and closing her eyes. And so Adam left her, crossing the room and stepping out into the cold morning air before shutting the door quietly behind him. Then he reached for the side of the house, turned to lean against it, and tried desperately to breathe.

Adam had been so prepared to help Belle recover that he hadn’t once considered she might be the one to help _him._ He thought on that, reaching for the arm she’d touched. Belle’s hand was no longer there, yet the warmth of her fingers still remained, working its way into his hands and his feet and the dark, empty hole in his chest. Adam pulled his arm close and held it to his beating heart. It was too much—too warm and good a feeling for someone who was used to nothing but the bitter cold of his loneliness. And frankly, he had no idea how to handle it.

And so it was several long minutes before he came to himself again, blinking away the tears that had finally forced their way to the surface and feeling more than a little foolish. This wouldn’t do; he needed a task. He thought quickly, then pushed himself upright and headed around the mountainside.

A small structure appeared after the bend, which functioned as a sort of barn for Bonne and storage shed for when he needed it. Adam had come with the intention of refilling her hay and water, but frowned at the sight that greeted him. The snow, piled high on the roof, had caused it to collapse on one side, burying its contents in splintered wood and ice.

A low snort reached his ears, and the ring of a deep-toned bell. Bonne had emerged from behind the shed, looking him dead in the eyes before staring pointedly at the collapsed side of her home. Adam sighed. “I know,” he said. “I’ll get on it.”

He returned to the pit he’d dug earlier, retrieved the tools he’d need, and set about fixing the roof. Adam still dreaded such tasks, for in all truth he really didn’t know what he was doing. His home had already been there when he settled this place—an old, rundown shack at the time, half rotted away. He’d fixed it up himself, studying the old construction that was left and mimicking it the best he could. But every year something went wrong, which he never doubted was a result of his own ineptitude. Princes, of course, were taught nothing of building or woodworking. He now thought this was quite a shame.

Still, the old cabin had been an ideal place to settle. It must have once been accessible to humans, but was now surrounded on all sides by a sharp drop off that seemed to be the work of a landslide. Adam, with his cursed form, could scale the steep cliff side with little trouble, and so had found a perfectly remote location no one but himself could access. He just tried not to think too hard about what had happened to those who’d been living here when the land had—

“Ouch!” he shouted, his thumb flaring in pain. In his distraction he’d landed the hammer right on it. He grimaced, watching as the blood swelled and pooled near his nail. It would heal in moments, but it still hurt.

But then, all at once, the blood he saw wasn’t his own. It was Belle’s, dripping from her lip in a forest clearing surrounded by dead wolves.

Adam’s pain was gone then, replaced by his own imaginings. He saw Belle again, wrapped in darkness while a shadowed, faceless man loomed over her. And then, suddenly, that man was grabbing Belle, shaking her, fingers digging into her arms so roughly that she cried. Adam saw him throw her to the floor, heard her scream, watched him grab her by the throat and pull back his fist—

_Snap!_

Adam gasped, blinking and coming back to where he was. He looked down, realizing he’d broken the hammer’s wooden handle into two splintered ends. His paw was shaking.

When Adam first saw the bruises covering Belle’s body, he’d been upset. Of course he had. It was a terrible thing that had been done to her, a terrible thing to happen to anyone. But now he knew her, at least a little; she’d listened to him, comforted him, and in so doing worked her way into a part of his broken heart. Which meant that imagining what had been done to her did far more than upset him now—it made him want to tear apart the man responsible.

He looked back at the broken tool, mulling that thought over in his mind. He _could_ tear him apart, if it came down to it. Quite easily.

Adam liked to think he’d overcome his temper some years ago. But now, as he found himself storming away from the shed, Bonne bellowing behind him, he wondered if he’d only been avoiding the things that set him off. _How dare he?!_ he thought, trembling head to toe as he walked. He stopped, throwing his fist against the nearest rocky outcropping and sending a dozen bits of stone into the snow before continuing down the path. _Fucking bastard! He’ll suffer everything he did to her and worse._ He snarled, stopping again and narrowing his eyes _. He’ll be **wishing** for hell by the time I’m finished with him. _

He knew these thoughts were off-color, but for the moment he really didn’t care. He was furious, for the first time in a long time, and for the first time at someone besides himself. Perhaps he couldn’t force himself out of this terrible world, but he could certainly rid it of _that_ monster.

The path he’d chosen soon ended, a steep face of the mountain now looming before him. Adam sucked in a breath, let it out, and began to climb. It was a short journey, at least for him, and it wasn’t long before he pulled himself over the ledge above. Now knee deep in snow, he stood slowly and looked up.

Before him was an ancient, blackened oak: the only tree remaining this high up, tucked at an angle into the rocking outcroppings of the mountain. Adam stared at it for a long moment, and scowled. Then, with a huff of resignation, he stepped forward, buried his paw into its gaping chest, and pulled out a small parcel wrapped in an old, worn shirt. Placing it in one palm, he pulled back the fabric with care to reveal a tiny shard of glass.

He hummed deeply, watching the blue sky above shift in a reflection no larger than his thumbnail. A dark curiosity had welled up in Adam’s heart, sending him to seek the one fragment of that magic he still had in his possession. He didn’t like to keep the mirror close—it was too mystical, too strong a reminder of all that he’d lost—yet he couldn’t find the strength to throw it away. And so, picking up the broken glass with two tips of his claws, he held it before his eyes.

“Show me who hurt Belle,” he commanded.

 ** _I thought that was none of your business,_** the prince muttered, moping about somewhere in the back of his mind.

Adam only focused on the glass, which did nothing for several seconds. But then that terrible green glow appeared, far too bright for such a tiny object, and faded to a dark, shifting grey that covered its surface completely.

Adam squinted at it, trying to make out the vision. For with only a piece of the mirror, he only ever had a portion of what he wished to see. He’d tried getting around this by asking for different perspectives, though he usually just wound up shaking the damn thing in irritation. None of that worked, however; it was as if that little shard of glass knew it was part of a greater whole, and refused to function as a full window on its own.

And so Adam studied what it gave him. It looked like... fur. Long, ragged fur, moving with the wind. He sighed. _“No,”_ he told the glass, feeling like he was explaining this to a very small child. “Not the wolves. A man. Show me the _man_ who hurt Belle.”

The vision grew fuzzy, then sharp again, then eventually faded completely. Adam stared at it for a long moment, watching as his own reflection returned. “God damn it,” he grumbled. Stupid thing was getting worse every time. _I should just throw you in the river,_ he thought, all while wrapping the mirror’s shard carefully between the folds of the shirt and tucking it back inside the tree’s cavity.

Deciding he better get back to the barn before Bonne tried to find him herself, Adam climbed back down the icy rocks and back the way he’d come. He worked for another hour or two, then headed back towards the trees for more lumber. He moved quietly past the house, glancing through the window and towards the fireplace to check on Belle.

But no one was there.

He sucked in a sharp breath, heart in his throat as he sprinted to the door. “Belle?” he called out, pulling it open and traipsing snow into the house as he scoured the room. He stopped in an instant, for she had only moved to his chair, so small in the massive seat that he’d entirely missed her through the window.

She didn’t even acknowledge his presence, staring at the pages of _Guinevere and Lancelot_ now spread across her lap. Tears were falling down her cheeks.

Adam blinked, and moved slowly across the room as his heart returned to its normal pace. “Belle?” he said again, softer this time. “What is it?”

She pulled the book to her chest, pages pressed to her heart and arms crossed over the cover. “I haven’t forgotten,” she said, voice swollen and damp. Closing her eyes, she spoke in such a way that he wondered if she’d even seen him there. “I wondered, worried… but I remember how.”

Adam crouched beside the chair, and laid a paw on the armrest. “How?”

“To read,” she said, opening her eyes again and lowering the book back into her lap. She stared down at the old pages in her hands, fingers brushing over the words as though they were something very sacred. “He never let me… it’s been years…” She shook her head, closing the book slowly and handing it back to him.

Adam reached for the novel, but only to stop her. “I would be a beast indeed if I took that from you now.”

She bit her lip, but nodded, pulling the book back and holding it to her chest once again. Adam’s own chest burned with fury, trying to understand—on top of everything—what would possess that wretched man to deny his wife the simple pleasures of a book.

But as he stood and watched Belle open the novel once more, he felt something different. Her eyes, they danced across that page, and she looked so incredibly... _alive._ And so he let his temper wane at the sight and a fierce determination take its place.

 _If anyone tries to hurt you again, well..._ He turned towards the door, standing tall and crossing his arms over his chest. _T_ _hey'll have to find a way to kill me first._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Adam is a little out of the loop lol. We’ll get that big overprotective teddy bear up to speed soon.
> 
> Next time: A reminder that healing is anything but linear…


	5. Chapter 5

_Two figures breathed side by side in a dark, silent room. The first a father, gasping for his final breaths. The second his daughter, gasping through her tears._

_“This is all my fault,” Belle wept, gripping Papa’s limp fingers where she knelt beside his bed. “If only I’d gotten to you sooner…”_

_If only she’d agreed to Gaston’s deal the moment he offered it. If only she hadn’t delayed the inevitable in hopes of finding a better way. God above, she was a fool, letting them cart Papa away to catch his death in that terrible place._

_“Maybe it's better...” Papa coughed, wet and sharp. “It's better this way…”_

_“Don’t talk like that,” Belle said, reaching up and dabbing the blood from his lips with a rag. Everything she’d done… had it all been for nothing? She couldn’t keep going without him. He was all she had, the only bit of light left since she’d made her deal with the devil._

_“Belle, listen to me. It's all right,” Papa said. He tried to hold her hand, but it was barely more than a brushing of fingers. “When I’m gone—”_

_“N-no…” she sobbed._

_“When I’m gone…” he repeated, gripping her hand with all the strength he had left. “Leave him.”_

_Belle’s cries grew still, and she looked up._

_“Find a way. I know you can,” he said in earnest. And then, for the first time in days, he managed a smile.  “Go, my Belle. Have your adventure. Find your true love. Live you **life.”** _

_Belle breathed once, then twice. “But I’m…” She swallowed, and ducked her head. She hidden the worst of it from her father—he’d been burdened so much as it was—but in this moment she couldn’t bear the pain alone any longer. “Papa… I’m already ruined.”_

_“No one can ruin you, Belle—” His words were stopped with another fit of coughs, but he only shook his head when she tried to help. **“No** one,” he said again, fiercely. “Do you hear me?” _

_Tears began pooling in Belle’s eyes again. She nodded._

_“I couldn’t stop him in this,” Papa went on. His hand grew limp in hers, so she held it in both her own. “But at least I can die and free you from him now.”_

_Belle didn’t argue with him anymore, much as she wished to. Instead she lifted his hand to her face, hoping to feel its warmth one last time._

_“I love you, Belle,” Papa said. He closed his eyes. “Don't be afraid.”_

_“I love you too, Papa. I'm not afraid,” she whispered. She turned to kiss his palm, holding his hand tight as her world died beside her. “And I will escape. I promise.”_

* * *

_The tall, dark pines flew past as Belle raced through the forest. “Hurry, Estelle,” she panted, urging the young horse faster with a kick of her heels. The beautiful, white-coated mare obeyed, leaning forward and speeding ahead into the growing darkness._

_Estelle was a gift from her husband, just one more way to show off his wealth and his young wife as they rode through the village. Still, she was a good horse, loyal to her mistress and with a gentler temperament than his other animals. And with Philippe gone, Estelle was all she had. Papa had been too sick to care for the young work horse at the end, and Gaston had refused to take on such an inelegant beast of burden in his stables. At least, that’s what he’d claimed; Belle suspected it was because Philippe tried to bite Gaston anytime he came close. So Philippe been sold, another of Belle’s loved ones lost to her forever._

_Though now, in a way, she was grateful—for as loyal as Philippe had been, he could not run like Estelle. And whatever horse she took in her escape would have to be sold once she made it to Paris._

_Belle’s heart leapt at the thought. Paris. She’d been born there, a lifetime ago, and finally she would return. It was the only place she could imagine where she could truly vanish from Gaston forever. She would change her name—she hated it anyway—cut her hair, perhaps work as a maid or a washerwoman or a seamstress if she could. And if worse came to worse, she could always join a convent. Anything was better than staying here._

_A sound cut into her imaginings. One sharp bark, and then another, eager and excited. Belle whipped her head around, and watched as two large, grey hounds hunted them from behind. She cursed, digging her heels harder into Estelle’s sides. “Faster!” she shouted. The mare obeyed, but it was too late, for the dogs had already reached them. They snapped lightly at Estelle’s heels, slowing her to a trot as two riders drew up on either side._

_Belle gripped the reigns tight, the leather digging into her trembling hands. He had caught her… again._

_Estelle had stopped now, snorting and backing away nervously from the dogs. Gaston was to his feet in an instant, reaching for her reigns with a sour expression on his face. Belle yanked them away from him, trying desperately to urge the horse forward again. But he only grabbed her wrist and tugged her out of the saddle. And so Belle leaned forward and—remembering Philippe—bit him hard._

_Gaston yelled. She kicked him in the shins. Finally his grip loosened, and she bolted towards the trees. But he was on her again in a moment, wrestling her to the ground._

_“You know, at first this was kind of cute,” he huffed, pinning her arms to her sides. “But it’s time to stop fighting me.”_

_“No,” Belle snarled, staring up at him in fury. “I won't stop. For every minute of the rest of my life I will **fight.** I will never stop trying to get away from you!”_

_Behind them, LeFou sat atop a borrowed horse and stared uncomfortably into his lap. But Gaston didn’t seem to care. He only glared down at Belle as she struggled again, holding her so tight she could barely budge. “In that case, I must break you,” he said quietly. He glanced over his shoulder at Estelle, who looked away from him in fear. Then he stared back down at his wife, and grinned. “My little mare. So wild and free…”_

_Belle spit in his face. “You’ll never break me.”_

_He grunted, but his smile only grew. “I did always like a challenge, you know. LeFou!”_

_The man started, looking up from his lap. “Y-yes?”_

_Gaston dragged Belle to her feet, then looked up towards the sky. The sun had nearly set now, wisps of the moon beginning to appear in the eastern sky. “Escort Belle back to the house, and keep an eye on her. I’m heading out.”_

_“Yes,” Lefou said, nodding quickly. “Right away, Gaston.”_

_The ride back was quiet, and slow. Lefou kept his eyes straight ahead, the right side of his lip a violent red where he’d been chewing on it for the last half hour. He was christened Leroy Fouch, an unfortunate name that made an easy joke—one that had yet to die since their childhood playmates invented it._

_Belle eyed him as their horses walked quietly between the trees. And then she pulled on Estelle’s reigns, and stopped._

_Lefou noticed a few paces ahead, pulling his own horse to a stop and turning back. “Belle, what are you—?”_

_“Leroy,” she said, and sucked in a breath. “You have to help me.”_

_He swallowed, but for a long moment he actually seemed to consider it. But then he glanced over her shoulder and into those dark, silent woods. “I… I can’t,” he whispered, and looked back at her. His eyes were trembling. “You’re not the only one afraid of him.”_

_“That’s not the same. You’re not married to him.”_

_Lefou’s eyes grew wide at that, and he flushed. The response confused Belle, but before she could puzzle it out he was shaking his head. “He… he wasn’t always like this,” he said quietly._

_Belle could hardly imagine that. “Well, he’s like this now,” she replied, feeling herself growing frustrated with the spinelessness before her. “Do you have any idea what he does to me? Or would you like me to spell it out for you?”_

_Lefou’s expression grew pained. He couldn’t even meet her eyes. “Belle, I’m sorry. I really am. I just don’t… I don’t know what I can do.”_

_“I just need more time to get away,” she asked. Begged, really, for it had come to that. She’d been caught trying to flee a half dozen times now, and it was becoming abundantly clear that she couldn’t do this alone. “I’ll handle the rest myself. **Please,** Leroy.” _

_He looked up slowly. “You know… you’re the only one who still calls me that.” He bit his lip again, and this time a spot of blood began to pool there. Finally, he sighed. “Shit. Okay, look,” he said. “He’s gonna be gone for two nights this time. The skies are clear, and he wants to take advantage of the full moon for the hunt.”_

_Two nights. Two full days to get away from him. Belle’s heart raced as she stared back towards the trees, and if Lefou didn’t have the faster horse she’d have taken off that very moment._

_“I won’t stop you,” she heard him say. She looked back, and for the first time since she’d known him he wasn’t trembling with nerves. For the first time, Leroy Fouch held himself tall. “He’ll be back Friday,” he went on. “I’ll keep to the nearby woods that morning, tell him you only barely ran off. He’ll think you close by, and it will throw off his search.”_

_Belle could have cried. Instead she reached over between the horses and grasped his arm. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you so much.”_

_He just shrugged, and looked away again. And so before he could change his mind, Belle gave a sharp_ hiyah! _and sent Estelle galloping back into the darkness._

* * *

_She rode through the outskirts of the woods to avoid the hunter within, but far enough from town that no one would spot her. She trusted no one but Lefou, and him only barely._

_Only when Estelle began to stumble and her own eyes refused to stay open did Belle stop. They’d ridden through the night and the following day, passing three villages and endless acres of golden wheat. She was too nervous to go into public, and too exhausted to search for a room regardless, so she tied Estelle to a tree in a dense grove and fell asleep in the grass._

_At dawn, a gun fired._

_Belle was startled awake at the sound, and beside her Estelle cried out in agony. The horse stumbled once, twice, and Belle barely managed to roll out of the way before she fell to the earth._

_“Poor Estelle,” came a voice. “It seems she's been injured on your journey.”_

_Belle’s heart flew into her throat, and she looked up. Gaston stood before them, watching the mare shudder in pain and holding a smoking pistol in his hand._

_Belle looked back at Estelle, neighing desperately while her front leg bled heavily in the grass. The sight of it numbed Belle’s despair at being caught and replaced it with a nauseating horror. “How could you?” she cried, shaking her head as he eyes filled with tears. “You’ve as good as killed her!”_

_“Indeed,” Gaston said, reloading the gun. “She will need to be put down.”_

_Belle’s eyes grew wide. “No,” she gasped, stretching her arms across Estelle’s shuddering form. “Wait, please, wait—!”_

_He aimed for the head this time, and fired again. Estelle went still._

_“It’s a shame, really,” he said, blowing the smoke from the end of the barrel before tucking it back into his belt. “Though perhaps it’s best you don’t have a beast after all.”_

_“It wasn’t her fault,” Belle wept, running her fingers through Estelle’s coat. “She did nothing but obey…”_

_“Yes,” Gaston agreed, dragging Belle to her feet and glaring at her with his icy cold gaze. “A lesson you would do well to learn.”_

* * *

_Gaston didn't have his own horse, but rented a large horse-drawn wagon in the closest town and nearly rode the creatures to their own deaths on the journey back. Belle could do little else besides weep for the duration of it._

_As they neared their village, however, her tears finally dried and she dared to speak again. “I don’t understand… how did you find me?” she asked weakly, exhausted and weary._

_Gaston only smirked, and sent a whip cracking over the team. As they turned onto the main road of town, Belle supposed he’d simply tracked her using whatever unreal ability he used to hunt down all his prey. He wasn’t famous for miles around for nothing. Still, even then he would need **some** kind of hint about which way she’d gone, and when._

_The ache of betrayal washed over her. “He told you.”_

_Gaston grabbed her wrist, jumping out of the seat and pulling her to the ground with him. The team of horses panted hard beside them, dangerously so. “Oh yes, Lefou told me everything,” he finally answered, dragging her towards the house. “Though he needed a little… persuasion.”_

_Belle frowned as he opened the door and pulled her inside. “What—?”_

_But the answer was waiting for her, crumpled in a heap in front of their hearth. The man lay on his side, the arm beneath bent the wrong way, an ankle dark and swollen. His face was a mess of dried blood, beaten to the point where she might not have recognized him had it not been suggested a moment before. In terror, Belle recalled Estelle’s lifeless form—but then the man took a breath, long and ragged. So he was still alive, if just barely._

_Belle had cried out at the sight, but when she tried to go to him Gaston held her back. And so all she could do was stare at the form in the shadows. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry, Leroy, I…”_

_But she couldn’t say another word, too great was her shame. This was all her fault. How could she have been so foolish? How could she have been so **selfish?** _

_Gaston’s heavy hands moved to her shoulders, and he leaned down close from behind. “The townsfolk need you, Belle,” he said in her ear. “You see, when you leave… they’re hurt.”_

_And in instant, Belle felt cold as ice._

_“Mounsier Fournier, is it? And his wife, Marie?” he went on. “Did you know they had a new oven built last week?” He hummed, rubbing his chin. “I do hope it’s sound. We certainly wouldn’t want a fire breaking out.”_

_Belle was feeling faint now. She forced herself to breathe._

_“And little Timmy… he’s a clumsy lad. Would be a shame if he fell into the old well just ‘cause no one was around to keep an eye on him.”_

_“You wouldn’t!” Belle gasped, finally turning around to grasp his shirt with pleading fingers. “Gaston, please, you wouldn’t!”_

_He laughed, and no beast in the world could have sounded more terrible. “Oh Belle, don’t you see? What happens to them… that all depends on you.”_

* * *

Belle woke with a gasp. A fire burned beside her, the place she lay warm and soft and safe.

She closed her eyes, breathing out slowly and fighting her trembling hands by grasping them together. The dream had felt so very real because it _had_ been, once; just another memory of her past, as all her nightmares were. She’d been hoping they’d stopped, but it seems she’d only had a temporary respite from them.

**_You’ll hurt him too._ **

Belle stopped breathing. The voice—it was her own, but younger, from the days when she’d craved adventure and romance and a life beyond these hills. That girl had thought it really all possible, knew it _should_ have been had Belle not failed so miserably to achieve any of her dreams. And so as the years passed that voice had grown cynical and cruel, bitter at all she’d never become.

Belle frowned in the darkness. _What do you mean?_ she asked herself.

**_You hurt everyone you let close. And he’s next._ **

Belle sucked in a sharp breath, then grimaced at the pain in her side. _Adam, he’s… he’s strong,_ she tried to reason. _And we’re far away from them._

**_And if they find you here? If the villagers see him? You really think he could face a hundred men alone?_ **

Belle’s eyes shot open, staring at the dark, cave-like ceiling above her. She imagined the mountainside swarming with villagers, their torches filling the air with hot, blinding smoke. She watched as the little cabin burst into flames, as Adam fought them off until he was overwhelmed, as they crawled over him like ants and thrust their long pitchforks over and over into his heart.

The pounding in Belle’s chest was so fierce now she wondered if her own heart wouldn’t burst. _Oh god_ , she thought in horror. _What have I done?_

She rolled over as slowly as she could manage, glancing across the small space. Adam was lying in the dark corner of the room, arched back rising and falling slowly with sleep. Had he carried her to bed? He must have, for she had no memory of lying down, no memory of setting his book so carefully on the blankets beside her head.

But now, as she thought, she did remember something of the night before. A light, appearing in the corner of her vision and growing stronger in the small room until it illuminated the shadowed pages. Adam, standing beside her, the handle of a glowing lantern hanging from a single finger.

“You should sleep,” he’d said softly. “The words will not vanish with the darkness.”

Belle tore her eyes away from the page. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly go to bed now. Lancelot, he’s…” She stifled a yawn. “… off to rescue Geneivieve from…” The yawn won, but she refused to give up. “… her kidnapper.”

Adam smiled then—or smirked, perhaps—and set the lantern down beside her. He glanced towards the page. “That **is** a good part,” he admitted.

Belle had no memory of the rest of the conversation; perhaps she’d been too tired. Perhaps that’s simply where it had ended. She certainly couldn’t recall whether Lancelot had been successful in his quest. She smiled, reaching out to touch the book's soft leather binding. How long it had been since she’d felt that, since she’d run her fingers over old inked parchment and lost herself in the worlds they created?

**_Having fun, were you?_ **

Belle pulled her fingers back as though burned. _No… I mean, I was only—_

**_Reading, laughing, sleeping all day as though you hadn’t just murdered a man? How dare you._ **

_I didn’t…_ Belle thought, shaking her head. _He was—it all happened so fast. I didn’t want to kill him!_

**_Didn’t you?_ **

_Of course not!_

**_Then why were you so relieved when you did?_ **

Belle cowered under the blankets, eyes wide in the darkness. The guilt flooded over her like a wave, the fear battering her to and fro like a terrible storm.

 ** _They’re coming for you,_** the voice whispered. ** _And they’ll find him too… unless you leave._**

Belle lay like that for a time—minutes or hours, she couldn’t tell. Every possible consequence of her actions played through her thoughts, and every time it ended with her trapped behind bars in the jailer’s wagon while a mob carted Adam’s corpse back to the village.

He had been through so much already. She’d seen it in his eyes, heard the pain in his voice as he related a tale that only confirmed it. Was she really so selfish that she would put his life in danger just for a book and a warm bed?

No. She was better than that.

Gritting her teeth, Belle rolled over and rose slowly to her hands and knees. Her side was flaring in pain again, and she had to stop and breathe for several long moments before she could even attempt to stand. In agony she did so, trembling all over and stepping out from the warm blankets.

And still Adam slept. No doubt he was exhausted from what she’d put him through. Holding her side and biting down on her lip, Belle slipped past him and crossed the room. She did so in perfect silence, toes before heels as she tested each floorboard for creaks. It was a skill she’d taught herself many years before, for this wasn’t the first time she’d wished a man to remain sleeping.

Reaching the door, she slipped her feet into her boots and retrieved her cloak where it hung on a nail in the wall. Yet when her fingers touched the door’s wooden latch she hesitated, glancing back at Adam’s form in the darkness. A great sorrow overtook her at the sight, an overwhelming temptation to crawl right back into bed and pretend everything was fine. This small, dusty mountain home—it was the first place she’d felt safe in so long, its owner the first person to care for her in years. And now she was leaving him.

_I didn’t get to say goodbye. I’ll never see him again._

But of course, she couldn’t say goodbye. He was too kind, and might not accept the very real danger she was putting him in. And so before she could change her mind, Belle lifted the latch and slipped out the door.

She gasped at the sudden cold. The mountain winds were like icy fingers, crawling beneath each layer of clothing and chilling her to the bone. Her injury suffered the worst, and she grabbed it again as she stumbled down the path. She headed towards the outhouse, then past it into the trees and down the face of the mountain.  

Everything was unfamiliar now. Belle brought a hand to her head, unable to think clearly past the aches in her body and the freezing air against her skin. _Where will I go?_ she asked herself. _I don’t even know where I am._

**_There’s nowhere to go._ **

And suddenly the trees had parted and she was standing on the edge of a rocky ledge. It dove straight down towards the forest below, an empty, terrifying drop of several hundred feet that hugged the entire mountainside.

**_Jump._ **

Belle gasped, and stepped away from the ledge. _No,_ she thought desperately, clinging to the nearest branch. _Not again. I—_

**_Do it. What choice do you have? It’s either this, or go back and face what you’ve done. They’ll hang you anyway._ **

_Please,_ Belle begged the voice. _I don’t want to die… not yet…_

**_Why? You’ve amounted to nothing. Thirty-five with no children, no home, not even a friend in the world—_ **

Belle’s fingers relaxed at that, and she looked back in the direction she’d come. _I have Adam,_ she thought. And for the barest of moments, a bit of warmth seeped into her chest.

Yet the voice only laughed at her, and the feeling drained away. **_You think he’s your friend?_** it asked. _**He only feels sorry for you. Do you really think he enjoys babysitting you all day? Or letting you eat through his food? Or sleeping in a corner of the room at night while you enjoy the warmth of his fire? You’re already hurting him, just like you hurt everyone.**_

Belle brought a hand to her mouth, and pressed it there as she began to weep.

 ** _Just listen to yourself,_** the young woman scoffed. ** _You’re pathetic. Pathetic, and broken, and utterly worthless._**

Belle brought her hand to her head, fingernails digging into her hair. “S-stop,” she whispered.

 ** _Have you forgotten what Gaston did to you?_** young Belle went on, her voice growing louder and uglier with each word until it barely sounded like her at all. **_He used you up, ruined you inside and out. There’s nothing left._**

Belle gasped for breath, losing her grip on the branch and slipping slowly to the earth. She sat there in the frozen snow, pressing her face into her palms as darkness crept into her heart. Those words felt so real, so true. Was it even right to fight them?

 _I’m… Not all of me is gone,_ she thought desperately. _I just have to remember who I was before… I just have to find her again…_

 ** _You’ll never find her,_** the voice said, disinterested and cold. ** _That girl is dead._**

Belle let her hands fall back to her lap, then stood slowly. She felt numb, that numbness spreading to the forest around her and dampening every sound. She blinked, and took a step forward, glancing back over the cliff. It was frightening drop, but it would be over quickly, without a jeering crowd or any number of terrible things they could do to her while she awaited her sentence in prison. And this way, they would find her body before they ever found Adam.

 _Maybe this **is** the right thing to do, _she thought. She slid her foot closer, sending a scattering of pebbles over the edge. _Maybe this way, I can’t hurt anyone again._ She moved closer still, and the wind from the valley flew up her cloak and through her hair. _Maybe—_

But before she could move any further, something reached out of the darkness and yanked her back.

Belle screamed. _They’ve found me!_ she thought in terror, pounding her fists against the stranger’s chest and kicking at the shadows with all her might. Yet despite her best efforts, the hands held her firmly, and so she cried out harder. _They’re here! They’ll find him! They’ll—_

“Belle!” called a voice. It was deep, and rough… and warmly familiar. “Belle… it’s me.”

Belle grew still, realizing the hands which held her were giant and soft. She sucked in a shallow breath. “Adam?”

His grip loosened, though he kept her encased from shoulders to elbows. He exhaled deeply, and Belle felt his warm breath as it parted the freezing air. He stood like that for a time, breathing roughly, holding her in two quaking paws. Belle ducked her head in shame and waited for his rebuke, for him to scold her for trying this again after all he’d done to care for her.

Yet he didn’t say a word. Instead, he reached around her shoulders and silently guided her back up the path towards the house. Belle let him, overwhelmed with a guilt she couldn’t decide was because she’d almost jumped… or because she’d failed to. It was too much, and soon the trees grew blurry and her tremors returned with such force that she could barely manage to stay standing.

And so she found herself in his arms again, except this was unlike any time before. This time he held her close, intimately so, as though she might vanish in a moment. “You’re all right,” he whispered, heart thundering madly beneath his chest. He reached even further around her, cradling her head in his paw and pressing his forehead to her hair. “You’re all right.”

Belle wasn’t sure which of them he’d meant those words to comfort. But it didn’t matter—they’d comforted her, and she found herself wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face there. It made every terrible thought of the nighttime vanish, if only for a moment.

Only when the wind grew fierce again did Adam look up and continue back to the house, back to the bed of furs and the quiet fire. He helped her sit, set her boots to dry by the fire, pulled the blankets back over her lap. Then, with nothing left to do, he sat beside her and stared into his lap.

Belle felt cold. The blankets were nothing to Adam’s embrace, and she found herself wishing for his arms again. Instead she drew her own arms around herself and wondered what on earth she should say.

“Belle.”

She looked up, though Adam was still looking at his hands, claws trailing through the furs. “I will not pretend to know what you’ve been though,” he finally said. Then he sucked in a breath, and looked up. “But I have been on the edge of that cliff too.”

Belle’s eyes grew wide.

He reached for her arm then—much as she had the day before, Belle realized—but drew back at the sight of her yellowing bruises. His eyes fell to her hand then, pale and untouched. And so he reached for it instead, holding it gently between two giant fingers and a thumb.

Belle nearly gasped at the touch. He couldn’t have known, could he? That no one had touched her hands in years, that Gaston had seen little use for them besides letting them cook his meals and clean his home and please him in whatever ways he commanded. He certainly never held them like this.

“Things get better,” Adam went on. She looked up then, eyes trembling, and he wrapped her hand completely in his own. “It takes time… but they get better, Belle. I _promise.”_

And at that, she burst into tears.

Adam, the poor man, immediately went into a panic, trying desperately to apologize for saying the wrong thing. Belle wanted to explain that the exact opposite was true, but every time she tried to speak she only broke into sobs again.

**_Are you really crying in front of him again? Ugh, you’re so—_ **

_Be quiet,_ Belle thought, so tired of the voice and so very desperate to let everything out. _Please, for just a moment… let me be._

Amazingly, it obeyed. And so Belle leaned into Adam’s open arms and cried until she could cry no more. It was strange, for in a way it felt so wonderful to do. How long had she been holding this in? How many times had she shed a few tears only to bury the rest inside? It was as though her chest had been filling itself with them for years and years, and now that they were free to spill out she could finally _breathe_ again.

Adam had grown quiet, holding her close until her breathing grew regular and the tension in her limbs seeped away. Eventually, slowly, he pulled back. “I’m _so_ sorry,” he said. His expression was pained. “I just thought… God, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Belle shook her head, lifting the corner of her dress to wipe the wet from her face. Adam stood quickly, crossing the room and digging around somewhere in the dark before returning with two bright, clean handkerchiefs. She blew her nose quickly, dried the rest of the tears from her eyes, and finally managed to answer him. “No,” she said in earnest. “No, you didn’t… _you_ didn’t make me cry.”

Adam grew very still. He looked back at his hand, which had found hers again, and furrowed his brows. “It must have been so awful… having someone you love turn on you like that."

Belle blinked. “I never loved…” But she trailed off quickly, thinking what a simple, tender assumption he’d made. It left her feeling soft.

“Belle?”

“I owe you an explanation,” she said. “Everything you’ve done and shared with me… I’ve been unfair to you.”

Adam watched her for a moment, and she saw the curiosity in his eyes. “Only if you wish to share it,” he said slowly. “But you owe me nothing.”

“I do,” she insisted. She looked away. “For I’ve put you in danger.”

He grunted, and waved it off. “I doubt that. I'm, er, very difficult to kill. Though..." His voice grew soft again. "If it would help you feel better to explain…?”

“It would,” she said, and realized in that moment that she meant it. That not only did she trust him, but that maybe… maybe she had found someone who would really understand.

_I have been on the edge of that cliff too._

“Yes, it would help,” she said again. Then she frowned. “It’s just… I don’t know where to start.”

Adam squeezed her hand gently, then let it go and rose to his feet once more. He placed two new logs on the fire, turned, and settled back beside her. “The beginning is fine by me.”


	6. Chapter 6

_“And where are you off to now, Maurice?”_

_“Ah! Monsieur Gaston,” Papa replied, tying the last corner of the tarp down with a grunt before brushing his hands off on his worker’s apron. “I’m off to the fair. Gonna bring home first prize tomorrow, or so Belle claims,” he chuckled._

_Belle only folded her arms, watching the interaction from their porch with narrow eyes. If Gaston wasn’t so utterly dimwitted, she’d suspect he was up to something._

_“Allow me to escort you,” Gaston went on, all smiles and politeness as he helped Papa up into the wagon. “I know these woods better than anyone. Wouldn’t have you getting lost now, would we?”_

_The muscles in Belle’s face relaxed a little. Papa **did** tend to get lost quite easily, and this was a longer journey than he was used to. If anything went wrong… Maybe she should put aside her pride and just let Gaston try to impress her with this. It’s not like it could change her mind about him._

_Speaking of Gaston—he was beside her now, leaning against the thick beam of their front porch and tugging on the end of her ponytail. “It wouldn’t be too much to have me gone a day, now would it Belle?”_

_She frowned, pulling her hair away and taking a step back. “I’ll manage.”_

_“Excellent!” he said, jumping off the porch and into her cabbage patch. He was beside Papa in the wagon before Belle could even gasp at the sudden destruction of a full season’s growth._

_As they rode off, she stared down at her ruined garden with fingers pressed against a pulsing temple. No, this little trip **definitely** wasn’t going to change her mind.  _

* * *

_Just in time for supper the following day, they returned._

_“Belle!” Papa cried, bursting through the door with more energy than she’d seen in him in years. “You aren’t going to believe this!”_

_Belle looked down at his hands. They held a sack, filled so full he could barely carry it and walk at the same time. She gasped. “Did… did you…”_

_“Win?” he finished for her, unable to contain his grin as he shifted the sack into one arm and pulled at the drawstring. A hundred glimmering coins stared out at them. “Yes, my dear, I did!”_

_“I knew you would!” Belle cried, laughing and pulling him close. They held each other tight, all tears and smiles and joy, the work and dreams of years almost too real to be true._

_Finally, Papa pulled back, dropping the heavy bag to the floor and holding Belle’s hands in his own. “This is the start of a new life for us,” he said softly. “For you, Belle.”_

_“Exactly what I was thinking,” said a deep voice._

_Belle frowned, and looked up. Gaston filled their doorway, bright-eyed and head held high as he stomped into the room. He moved between them, resting a heavy hand on each of their shoulders and leaning close. “And what better way to celebrate… than a wedding?”_

_Belle twisted quickly out of his grip, annoyed at him for ruining the moment. “I appreciate you seeing my father home safely,” she said. “But regarding this, I’ve already told you no.”_

_Papa looked surprised, and Belle grimaced. She hadn’t told him about that. Any other time she would have, but he’d been on such a tight schedule to finish his invention for the fair that she hadn’t wanted to distract him._

_Gaston laughed loudly. Uncomfortably. “Maurice… talk some sense into your daughter.”_

_Maurice frowned now too, and looked back at him. “Belle has plenty of her own sense, Gaston. The decision is hers to make, and it seems she’s made it already.”_

_Gaston’s eyes went wide, and Belle smirked. He clearly hadn’t been expecting that. She looked back at her father, all the love and warmth from before returning in full._ Thank you, Papa, _she thought._

_But then Gaston was hovering over Papa, a large finger pointing down the tip of his nose. “You only won first place because of me,” he growled. “I spoke to the judges for you. **I** convinced them to let you win.”_

_Slowly, the color drained from Papa’s cheeks._

_Gaston barked out a laugh. “Did you honestly think that ridiculous machine was worth a hundred pieces of silver?”_

_Papa’s shoulders were slumped now, his gaze dropped in shame. Belle moved between them, trembling all over with fury. “How dare you?” she cried, jabbing a finger right back at Gaston. “Leave my father alone! He earned that award fair and square, and you know it!”_

_“No, he didn’t.” Gaston took a step closer, reaching out and caressing his fingers in the air just beyond reach of her. “And now… he **owes**_ _me.”_

_Belle blinked, mouth agape as she realized what he meant. “You—I—” she stammered, growing beat red where she stood. “I am **not** a prize to be won!” _

_She felt a hand on her shoulder, and Papa stepped forward. “No, she isn’t.”_

_Belle’s father was not a tall man, and Gaston towered over them both. But the way Papa stood now and glared icy daggers up at Gaston would have made anyone question who was the more powerful man in the room. “Gaston, if you feel the winnings were truly your doing, then take the money yourself,” he said coldly. “But I will not sell off my daughter for them.”_

_Gaston grit his teeth. The muscles in his arms flexed once, then twice, and for a terrible moment Belle feared he would strike out. But he only snarled, and turned his back to them. “Keep your damn money,” he spat, kicking the sack of coin out of his way as he stormed towards the door. “I’ll have Belle for my wife. Make no mistake about that.” And then he slammed the door behind him, sending dust raining down from the ceiling and their animals bellowing in irritation from the barn._

_Belle realized she was still shaking even when the house had gone still. She forced in a breath, then turned back to Papa. “I’m sure he was lying,” she said in earnest, resting both hands on his shoulders. “Your invention was wonderful. He was just trying to find another way to get me to marry him.”_

_“That was no gift of flowers, nor an invitation to dinner,” her father said. He looked up, and narrowed his eyes. “That was a threat.”_

_Papa’s demeanor hadn’t changed from when he’d stood up to Gaston, all strange and dark and ominous. Belle had never seen him as such, and frankly… it frightened her._

_“Pack your bag, Belle,” he went on, moving across the room to pick up the spilled prize money._

_Belle watched him, heart thundering, frozen where she stood. “What? …Now?” she gasped, looking slowly around the little room. Her home, the only one she could remember. “But our house. Our furniture, our things…”_

_Papa heaved the bag of money back into his arms. It seemed to burden him twice as much as before as he limped across the room and set it on the table. “I’ll return for them. And if something happens, we still have this,” he said. Then he looked back at her with that same, frightening look. “But whatever we do, we need to get you away from that man.”_

* * *

_They left at twilight, and rode through the night. Philippe seemed in high spirits at the sudden excursion, but Belle could only wring her hands together over and over again as Papa guided the little wagon through the darkness._

_“We should reach the Forêt Inn soon,” Papa said after some hours. He spoke softly, but even then his voice seemed to thunder across silence of the woods. “We’ll stop there and get some rest. How does that sound?”_

_Belle nodded. She watched the small lantern sway as they rode, the light casting dancing shadows across the path. Then she sucked in a breath, and asked the question that had been troubling her all night. “Papa… where will we go?”_

_“How does Paris sound?”_

_Belle’s eyes grew wide, and she looked back at him. She caught a twinkle in his eye. “I know, I know,” he said. “But it’s time, I think. You should see where you were born, and the city your mother loved so much.”_

_“Papa, I…” But she couldn’t finish. She thought her heart would burst._

_Papa looked very much like he was trying not to smile himself. “Well, what would you like to see first?” he asked, looking back down the path and guiding Philippe left at a fork in the road. “Notre Dame? The Champs-lyses? Or perhaps…”_

_He stopped, then turned around in his seat. Belle followed his gaze, and spotted a light coming upon them from the darkness. It moved quickly, and soon split into a dozen fires held aloft by a dozen horsemen, the sounds of their hooves swelling like a sudden summer storm. Papa barely had time to give her an anxious glance before the riders were upon them._

_The first rode up and waved them to slow. Papa pulled them to a stop, frowning deeply. Philippe huffed at the other horses now surrounding them as the stranger came up close. He wore a simple uniform common for local authorities, though it wasn’t one Belle recognized. “State your name, monsieur,” the man ordered._

_“Maurice Dupont,” Papa said, frowning deeply as he rested a hand on Belle’s arm. “What’s this all about, Constable?”_

_Another man had climbed into the back of the wagon, pulling back the cover and digging around their things. “I found it!” he exclaimed, heaving the bag of silver over his head._

_“That’s him, then.” The constable lifted his chin, and in an instant Papa was seized by two more guards and dragged from the wagon.  
_

_“No!” Belle tumbled to the ground after them, grabbing the closest guard’s shirt. “Stop, please!” she begged him. He shoved her away without a second glance._

_“Maurice Dupont,” the constable said dryly. “You are under arrest for fraud and theft.”_

_“That’s a lie!” Belle cried. “I won’t let you take him!”_

_The constable finally looked her way. “Forgive us, mademoiselle. But we’ve had a tip this man rigged the Northern Fair and confiscated a large sum unfairly.”_

_“No.”_

_Belle looked up. Papa’s hand were already cuffed behind his back, yet he still managed to appear calm as he explained. “No, Constable. It was another who claimed to speak to the judges, and without my knowledge. He was trying to—”_

_“So you admit you knew about the bribe, Monsieur Dupont?” the Constable cut in._

_“Bribe?” Papa said. His eyes grew wide, and he looked back at Belle as all calm vanished from his face. “No, I didn’t… he only said he spoke to them. I knew of no bribe!”_

_“Really?” the Constable asked, crossing his arms. “Then why are you leaving town in the dead of night?"_

_“To protect **me!** ” Belle cried out. But no one heard her over the men’s rough laughter and the clattering of hooves on the cold ground. She reached for the Constable’s sleeve, grabbing it so fiercely he was forced to acknowledge her. “Please,” she gasped. “This is all a misunderstanding. We knew nothing of the bribe, truly.” It sounded pathetic even as she said it. Belle grimaced, scrambling to make him understand. “We were only leaving town because Gaston was threatening to…”_

_But her words died in her throat, catching sight of the man lingering at the edge of the firelight._

_“Monsieur Gaston?” the Constable asked her, then turned to offer Gaston himself a nod as he stepped towards them. “This young man’s the one who came forward with the information. In fact, he claims your father offered him some of the dirty money to keep quiet.” He turned back, looking down at Belle with a raised brow. “Is that not right, mademoiselle?”_

_Belle paled. Papa **had** offered Gaston the prize money, but only so he would leave her alone. “I…” she gasped. “No, it wasn’t… it wasn’t like that—”_

_She was cut off as Gaston tugged her against his side. She reached up to push away from his sweat-soaked tunic, but he held her fast. “I’m so very fond of Belle. We’re in love, you see,” he said, pulling her even tighter against him as if that proved the point. “And well—I’d do anything to please her father. So when he told me to talk to them, well… I really thought the invention deserved first prize, you know? Didn’t even realize what I was doing when he asked me to give each judge a few livres for him. Thought it was some kind of fee. I knew he and Belle had little to spare, and I wanted to help them out.” He offered a dramatic sigh, and glanced away. “Guess I’ve never been the brightest of the bunch…”_

_“No one blames you, young man,” the Constable said. “Seems clear to me you were used in a scheme by the old man.”_

_Belle heard it all in silent horror, barely able to breathe in Gaston’s hold. She thought she was going to be sick._

_“Stop! Let go of me!”_

_She whipped her head around, watching as the men forced her father into the jailer’s wagon. “Papa!” she gasped, trying to run to him. Gaston held her back, impenetrable force that he was._

_“Belle!” Papa shouted, reaching for her throat the wagon’s thick bars._

_“Papa!” she cried again. She looked around, desperate for anyone who would listen. “Please! You can’t do this!”_

_But no one was listening to her anymore. No one had listened to her at all, had they?_

_Gaston gripped her hard again, and leaned down. “Belle…”_

_“Get away from me.” She finally yanked herself from him, tearing spilling down her cheeks as she watched the carriage roll away into the darkness. “You’ve done this for revenge. Y-you… you just can’t stand it when you don’t get your way, can you?!”_

_“No, Belle, no,” Gaston said, voice like honey. He took a careful step closer, reaching towards her slowly as though she were some rabid creature who might lash out at any moment. “I only wanted to do the right thing. I know it can be hard to accept that those you love aren’t… the most honest of people, but sometimes that’s the truth—”_

_She slapped his hand away, and stepped back. “You’re insane.”_

_A man walking past glanced over at them. “She’s upset,” Gaston told him. He shrugged. “Her father…”_

_“’Course,” the man nodded. He returned to his task._

_Gaston grabbed Belle’s arm then, and before she could push him away he had dragged her back to Philippe and the abandoned wagon. It was dark here, for the oil in their lantern had died amid the commotion and the other men were already riding away. And as the light faded, so did Gaston’s façade._

_“Do you want your father back, or not?”_

_Belle stared up at him, wrinkling her nose. “Of course I do. But what can I possible do to…” Yet she grew quiet as a terrible grin split over his face. Her heart fell into her stomach as the realization washed over her like a freezing wave. Gaston would never settle for revenge. When there was something he wanted, he never gave up until it was his._

_“You know,” he said. He licked his lips, and drew close. “I might be able to clear up this little misunderstanding, if…”_

_But before he could whisper the deal in her ear, Belle knew exactly what it would be._

* * *

“But that doesn’t count!” Adam cried. He’d been trying very hard not to interrupt, but he just couldn’t stay quiet any longer. This wasn't what he’d imagined at all; it was so much worse. He’d assumed Belle had been happily married in the beginning at the very least, but to know she’d been practically enslaved by this man… Something, deep inside him, told him he could have prevented it.

“I agreed to the proposal. I said the vows,” Belle answered, shrugging. She sat in his chair now; he’d pulled it over to the fire as the story grew, sitting on the floor beside her and resting his elbows on the arm of the chair.

“But he coerced you,” Adam insisted. He sat back suddenly, unable to contain the frustration pulsing through his limbs. “Threatened you. You didn’t have a choice!”

Belle gave him a strange look. “Do you think I’m the first woman to enter a marriage she didn’t want? Woman are coerced by poverty, family, powerful men every moment of every day. I am not unique.” She looked away, and sighed. “In fact, I rather believe I’m in the majority.”

Adam supposed he knew that. But to actually know someone who’d lived it, to hear her story like this… For the first time in his life, he realized how truly terrible it all was.

The kettle began to whistle. He turned and busied himself with their tea, grateful for a moment to hide his shame. Was he still this ignorant to the suffering of anyone but himself? After all this time… had he even changed at all? Adam swallowed, gripping two steaming cups in his paws and turning back to her. “You saved him, though,” he said, sobering. “Your father.”

Belle took the cup, and stared into its contents. “Not really. I thought I could find another way. Thought I could free him on my own, as though they’d actually listen to the testimony of a woman.” She scoffed, shaking her head. “No, I only delayed the inevitable, and by doing so let Papa sit in prison for a fortnight. By the time I got him back…” Her fingertips grew white where she gripped her cup, and she squeezed her eyes shut. “He was gone the next spring.”

Adam bit back a curse. How was that fair? To do all that, just to have him die…

Belle was staring at the fire now, eyes empty and glazed over again like they’d been when he found her. Adam’s heart dropped at the sight of it. He reached out carefully, touching her fingers where they’d fallen limp in her lap. “Belle,” he said quietly. _Come back._

She sucked in a breath, the color returning to her cheeks. “Sorry,” she said, looking back at him. Her fingers curled around his in return, leaving Adam a little weightless where he sat. “Well, anyway,” she went on. “I took a season to mourn him… then tried to run.”

Adam’s eyes grew wide. “You did?”

She nodded. “Seven times. I did everything I could think of—taking the main roads, the forest and the mountain paths, sometimes no paths at all. Slipping into a traveling caravan. Waiting for the hunting trips he took each month, for the days he spent drunk at the tavern and the nights he wasted his coin at the brothel.” She scoffed. “I even tried a sleeping powder, once—but it didn’t work. Nothing worked. He always found me, every time.”

Adam’s heart felt swollen in his chest. He wanted so badly to ask which way she’d gone. Had she ever touched the edges of his woods? Ever crossed one of the trails he ran all those frustrating years alone? Had she ever come close enough that had he known, he could have brought her here sooner and kept her safe?

When he realized where his thoughts had gone, Adam quickly shook his head. That was dangerous thinking. The past was the past, and he’d had enough experience imagining how to fix it to know that doing so only made him feel worse.

And so he listened as Belle went on, explaining the last time she’d tried to escape—and why she’d never tried again. “He knew then that he’d broken me,” she said. “That he could finally make me the wife he’d always wanted. His demands grew with each day, piling atop each other, petty and ceaseless. And whenever I failed, someone was punished.”

“No one did anything?” Adam asked, his rage only barely contained beneath the surface. “To stop him?!”

“You don’t understand. Our village _ate_ because of him,” she explained. “He was an incredible hunter—too good, almost. He could feed us all for a month with a single night’s hunt. Many loved him for it. And well…” She looked into her lap. “No one loved me. They never did. They say I am…” She grimaced, offering the word with a stiff tilt of her head. “Odd.”

What the hell was wrong with these people? “Your village sounds _terrible.”_

Belle managed a bit of a smile at that, though it faded quickly. “Gaston may have been loved, but he was also feared. So after what happened to Leroy, after what happened whenever I upset Gaston, well… they knew it was best to keep their distance from me.” She sighed. “Honestly, I don’t blame them.”

Adam couldn’t share her sentiment. _Cowards, the lot of them,_ he thought. _Stupid, selfish, useless—_

 ** _—disgusting, vile, wicked peasants,_** finished the prince.

Adam frowned. The ease with which that thought had come… it disturbed him. He looked up, realizing Belle had closed her eyes again. The cup trembled in her hands, threatening to spill its contents. He took it from her gently and set it aside. _No,_ he told the prince, reaching back for her delicate fingers once more. _Not all of them._

Belle’s trembling grew still in his grasp. “So,” she braved on. “I never read again. I never talked above a gentle voice or disagreed or refused him. I cooked his every meal and mended his clothes and kept his home and entertained his guests and—” She stopped, and Adam felt her fingers grip his hard, though she hardly seemed aware she’d done it. “I did it all. Everything he wanted, except…”

Adam waited, but she didn’t finish this time. Instead, he watched while her face reddened and a hand drifted to her abdomen. And in an instant, he understood. How had he not wondered about that before?

“I’d known something was wrong after the first year,” she pressed on. “But convinced him all was well for two years more. He could be clever and cunning in many ways, but so terribly dull in others.” She furrowed her brows. “But when our third spring together passed and I had given him no son, no children at all… it was my turn to be punished.”

“Okay, that’s _it.”_ Adam stood, trembling head to toe, his fury suddenly too much to bear. “Where is he? I’m going to kill him!”

“Adam… you can’t…”

“I’ll do it, Belle.” He’d already grabbed his cloak, and was heading towards the door. “I’m damned as it is, so it’s not a problem.”

“But you _can’t,”_ she begged him. “Because… b-because…” And then she gasped, dropping her face into her hands. “I _already did.”_

Adam stopped in his tracks. The cloak slipped from his fingers and landed in a pool at his feet. “You…” His eyes grew wide, and he looked back. “Really?”

Belle gave nothing but a small, muffled cry in response, burying her face deeper against her palms. It had been the wrong thing to say, Adam realized, and even worse of him to leave her side. He quickly crossed the room and knelt at her feet again.

“Belle… I’m sorry. I was just surprised, and, um…” He sighed. “And I’m an idiot.”

She shook her head, but couldn’t speak through her tears.

“It’s okay. I mean… he deserved it, right? Don’t feel bad…”

She looked up slowly, cheeks stained with tears once again. “I d-didn’t want to do it,” she choked out, shaking her head. “I’m not that kind of… He was… It just…” She squeezed her eyes shut. “It just… _happened.”_

* * *

_When the clock over the mantle struck midnight, Belle was elbow-deep in dishwater. She cursed under her breath, scrubbing at yet another egg-crusted pan with fervor. How one man could consume so much of a single food-type would have been beyond her imaginings if she didn’t have to witness it each day. She truly wondered how he hadn’t turned into an egg himself by now._

_That would have been incredibly convenient._

_Belle continued to work at the pan, swallowing back her nausea as rain beat against the window. At least she was alone tonight. Gaston had taken to spending more nights than not at the tavern with its female occupants, and Belle welcomed it. It was on nights like these she could actually sleep without fear. It was lonely, but she preferred loneliness to the alternative._

_The rain’s rhythm changed, and Belle looked up. As she listened, however, she realized it hadn’t been the rain at all, but heavy hoof falls in the distance. The yells of a drunkard soon followed._

_There wasn’t time to lament. In an instant, Belle threw the dishwater out the window and hid the rest of the dirty pans beneath the sink. She ran to the stove, dished up a heaping plate of dinner she’d kept warm, and set it at his place on the table. She stoked the fire, pulled out some mending, and sat in her chair. And then she waited, smoothing out the wrinkles in her skirt as well as every worried wrinkle in her face._

_Her hands were still trembling, but he wouldn’t notice that._

_The animals had grown restless outside, braying and stamping their feet at their master’s arrival. “Please,” Belle prayed softly, “Please let me pass by his notice tonight. Please, **please** let me pass by his—”_

_“BELLLLLE!”_

_She pricked herself with the needle, and blood pooled on the tip of her finger. The prayer hadn’t helped. It never did, but there was no one else left to ask._

_The barn doors banged shut in the distance, his boots echoing off the path to the house. Every instinct Belle had was screaming at her to move, but she knew better. If she tried to hide, he’d simply tear the house apart until he found her. And, of course, running only meant another would meet her fate.  
_

_And so Belle closed her eyes, and waited for him to come._

_The door burst open a moment later, slamming against the wall. Gaston stood in the threshold, chest heaving, soaked from head to toe as he glared at her from the shadows. His hair was undone, falling into his face like some kind of wild creature who’d just emerged from the forest._

_“Belle.” His words were slow, and slurred. “I’m afraid… I‘ve been thinking.”_

_Belle didn’t respond. Trying to talk him down only made things worse—he hated when she spoke. And so she watched in silence as he stepped into the room, not bothering to shut the door behind him. He stumbled more than once as he walked, dripping rainwater in his wake._

_“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” he asked, towering over her where she sat. “All these years, refusing me a son.”_

_“No, I—” Belle bit her lip hard; she hadn’t meant to speak._

_He leaned close, breath reeking of beer. “You **what?”** he hissed._

_Belle looked down, and closed her eyes. “Please, Gaston, you must understand… I can’t control whether—”_

_He moved fast, pulling her from the chair and throwing her across the room. Belle hit the table, his dinner flying to the floor as she fell beside it like a ragdoll. She gasped for breath, her vision growing dark and light again as she struggled not to black out._

_He was over her again, dragging her to her feet. “Stupid… selfish whore,” he spat. He had her by throat, her toes barely brushing the ground below. Belle grabbed at his hands, pulling them back just enough to breathe._

_“Please,” she gasped. “You can let me go…” She sucked in what little air she could. “M-marry… another, someone who can—” She gasped again. “—give you a child. We j-just need a written divorce, and—”_

_But before she could finish, Belle saw stars._

_“How DARE you!” he roared. “You think it’s so easy? I will not be shamed this way!”_

_Belle barely heard him. The room was spinning, the left side of her vision fading as her eye grew hot and swollen, but somehow she forced herself to stay conscious._

_“There’s only one way out of this, my little wife.”_

_Belle finally registered his words, and looked back at him. He’d hit her face. He **never** hit her face; it was far too valuable to him. And in a moment, the pain grew numb as she realized Gaston no longer cared._

_“Oh, how they’ll weep for me.” He was sobering now, but it made him seem even more dangerous. “The poor, handsome widower, his wife had died so young. They’ll eat it right up.” His eyes were bright and blazing, filled with a fire she’d only seen when he spoke of his greatest kills. His fingers grew tight around her neck again. “There are many more beautiful ones than you now. You’ve grown old, and useless, and I’m tired of waiting.”_

_It had been years since she’d fought Gaston, and in that time he’d forgotten the need to protect himself. And so when Belle thrust her knee forward with all her might, it came into full, glorious contact with its goal. He dropped her, screaming and falling to his knees. Belle gasped for breath once, then twice, and pushed herself to her feet._

_Except she could barely move. She looked back and saw Gaston laying on his side, glaring at her, face flush and hands pressed to the damaged place between his legs. And, beneath the heel of his boot, he'd caught the edge of her skirt. Belle grabbed her dress at the center and, with a primitive cry, yanked hard. It tore at the hem, long and ragged, before it snapped. And then she ran._

_She was soaked the moment she entered the storm. Sprinting through the mud in unfastened boots, Belle clung to the cloak she’d ripped off its hook and tried to think past the terror pounding in her skull. The barn, the horses—if she could get there, take the fastest animal, maybe she had a chance too—_

_The barn door shattered into a hundred pieces. Belle screamed, throwing her hands to her ears, the sound of a gunshot still ringing through the damp forest around them._

_“Not so fast.”_

_She turned, eyes wide in horror as she watched Gaston hobble down the path behind her. He was fumbling to reload his shotgun, a few shells slipping from his wet fingers and disappearing into the muddy path. Belle gasped, abandoning the barn and fleeing into the trees. Behind her, the gun cocked again, and she made a sharp change of course just as the second shot missed her by inches._

_Belle no longer felt her pain—she only ran. Harder than she’d ever run before, harder than she’d run all those times she’d tried to escape. It might be the last time she ran again, and she knew the only reason she wasn’t dead already was because of the heavy rain and the fact that Gaston was still too drunk to hit a moving target._

_Another blast rang through the trees, and a tree some feet away shattered. Belle bit back a sob, staggering through the wet darkness as the forest grew thick and overgrown. Every muscle in her body was throbbing, every pulse of her heart like a drum beating against her skull as her boots stuck in the thick mud. But she didn’t stop—she couldn’t, for her body wouldn’t let her and her mind knew the moment she did she would be dead._

_But then the growth around her gave way, and she was forced to pause in her tracks. For a step beyond was the narrow canyon that cut through the valley, a dried out riverbed deep in its depths. She ducked back within the trees, pressing her back against the closest trunk. She looked to her left, then to her right—there. The old bridge; it wasn’t far. Sucking in a breath, she ran that way, keeping within the outermost trees._

_Another shot rang out behind her, and Belle dared a glance back. The rain had slowed and she could just make him out, staggering along the canyon’s edge, the gun propped against his shoulder. “Come out, come out! Wherever you are!” he shouted. He shot the gun again, straight up into the night sky._

_Belle pressed her hand to her mouth, moving through the trees as quietly as she could. The bridge was close now, but she didn’t dare step out into the open. She looked back, watching as he sent two more shots into air. On the third, the gun rang empty, and he growled, tossing the weapon into the grass and turning back the way he’d come._

_Belle waited until he was out of sight, then made a run for it. The bridge was nothing more than rope and old wooden planks, half rotted from years of disuse, but she remembered them well. She raced across, the sounds of her feet far too loud without the rain-soaked earth to dampen their impact. But she made it across without incident and fled back into the cover of the forest._

_And then a knife grazed her lip, and sunk itself into the closest tree._

_She whipped her head back. He was there, standing on the other side of the canyon, his mad grin bright as the clouds finally began to part and let through a sliver of moonlight._

_Belle spun back around, ready to flee once again—but something stopped her. The sight of the knife in the tree, perhaps, or the taste of blood as it spilled from her lip. And then everything seemed to slow, and in that time something inside her came alive and took control. With a sharp tug, she yanked the knife free and turned back to face him._

_Gaston laughed long and loud as she stood there, the knife glimmering in the faint moonlight where she held it before her. “And what do you plan to do with that?!” he shouted._

_Belle gripped the knife’s handle with both hands, and brought it above her head._

_He grinned, and crossed to the center of the bridge in three great strides. “You stupid bitch—”_

_And then she brought it down hard, slicing through the bridge’s old, rotting anchor._

_The cut was clean, and quick, the frayed rope posing little challenge to Gaston’s sharpened blade. The bridge went limp in an instant, dropping into the darkness. Gaston cried out in surprise, but soon the darkness had swallowed his shouts and the man along with them._

_Belle’s chest was heaving, her mind finally catching up to what her hands had done. They still held the long knife, and she gasped, letting it fall to the ground. Then, slowly, she moved to the edge of the cliff, gazing into the silent canyon below. Against the opposite cliff side hung the bridge, alone and tattered. And so she let her gaze fall lower. As she did, the clouds shifted up above, a bit more moonlight shining through as though the sky itself wished to confirm what she needed to see:_

_His body, broken and still, skewered through by one of the jagged rocks below._

* * *

Belle’s story from her youth—her father’s trip to the fair, Gaston’s threats, their failed escape—that had all been told from start to finish, clear and, in a way, rehearsed. She knew it well, Adam supposed, and had likely been reliving it again and again all these years. But when she tried to explain what had happened barely a week before it came in bits and pieces, interrupted by tears and tremblings.

Still, it was enough. Adam knew she was safe—she was sitting right here in his chair, her knees pulled to her chest and covered by one of his blankets—but her words still left his heart racing. It had all been too close. Had Gaston swung his punch a little too hard, had those shell fragments veered just far enough to make their mark, had Belle taken one wrong step on the old bridge… had just one thing gone a little differently, she might not be sitting here at all.

HIs only relief came when he imagined a sharp, blood-stained rock emerging from the scoundrel’s chest. Gaston was definitely dead, then. Only a man cursed like Adam himself could have survived that.

“I murdered him, didn’t I?” Belle asked then, eyes glassy and wide as she pulled her knees tighter to her chest. “I didn’t want to… If only he’d let me go … I was just so afraid…”

“No, Belle. _No,”_ Adam said fiercely. “You were protecting yourself. He was trying to kill you!”

“I didn’t have to kill _him,_ though.”

“Yes, you did.”

Belle looked up, and frowned.

“He was stronger than you, armed, and trained to hunt,” Adam explained. “You had nothing to use against him, nothing but that single chance. I think… I think something inside you knew that, the part that protects you and keeps you alive, and that’s why you acted so quickly. It was a fight for your life, and you _won.”_ Just saying it left his chest full. She’d completely outsmarted the bastard, and in that moment Adam found himself feeling so incredibly proud of her.

“But I…” Belle played absently with the frayed ends of her skirt, before squeezing her eyes shut again. “Adam, for a moment after it happened… I felt _glad.”_

“Of course you felt glad!” he cried. “You thought he was going to kill you, but you survived. He’d been tormenting you for years and you were finally free!” He couldn’t take it. He wouldn’t let her feel any more guilt for that sorry son of a bitch. Gaston had killed himself as far as he was concerned. “Listen to me, Belle,” he went on in earnest. “You’re a hero.”

She had been drying her eyes on her sleeve, but paused. “…What?”

“You saved them. Your father, the villagers.”

Belle looked at him strangely. “No I didn’t. I failed every time.”

Adam shook his head. “I don’t think so. You got your father out, didn’t you? He was able to spend the last year of his life with you, able to pass away in his own home and his own bed with the person he loved beside him instead of in a cold prison cell.”

Belle blinked. “I suppose…”

“And the villagers—you protected them from Gaston all that time, and at your own expense.” _Not that they deserved it,_ he thought to himself. “He was forced to stay his hand from every single one of them because of you. Who knows how he would have abused his power all those years if he wasn’t trying to keep you there.”

She was staring at him now. “I… I never thought of it that way…”

“Few could have endured as much, especially for people who weren’t even _nice_ to them. You’re a _hero,_ Belle.”

She stared into her lap, puzzling that over. “I… well, perhaps,” she conceded, and looked up. “But how will they eat now? He practically fed them all.”

Adam huffed. “Maybe they’ll actually have to work for themselves? It will be good for them.”

He realized this was a bit hypocritical considering his own lazy upbringing, but Belle didn’t seem to notice. “And he can’t hurt any of us now,” she said to herself. And, at last, she started to smile. “Hm. Maybe you’re right.”

“Of _course_ I’m right,” Adam said, except it had really been the prince speaking. He flushed at the slip, but Belle only chuckled.

He could practically see the prince smirking at him. **_You’re welcome._**

Belle’s amusement faded quickly, however. “But I’ve put you in danger,” she said. “The villagers, they’ll be looking for me. And if they find you, they—” She grimaced. “Well… they are not very understanding of those who are different.”

“Different. That is a kind way to put it.” He smiled a little. “Look, you don’t need to worry about that. The snow covered my tracks the night we came back here. And regardless, this is an impossible place to reach unless you are an unnaturally talented climber.” He may have flexed his arms a little where they rested. “Which I happen to be.”

Belle brightened at that. “Really?”

“Yes.” _And they couldn’t kill me anyway,_ he added to himself, but that was one Pandora’s box he definitely didn’t want to open tonight. “We’re safe here, Belle,” he said instead. “You’re safe here.”

Belle was breathless, looking as though she might cry again. But instead, she sank back into the chair, closing her eyes and breathing out a sigh of relief.

They fell quiet. The fire had grown low, but just as he considered fetching another log Belle turned her head where it rested to face him. “How do you always know?” she asked. Her expression was soft. Very soft.

He cleared his throat. “Oh, uh… know?”

“Just what to say. To make me feel better.”

Adam went warm all over. It took him a moment to answer her. “I… I only spoke the truth. Anyone could have done it.”

She shook her head gently. “No. Not anyone.”

They were very close now, he realized, and his fingers had slipped from the armrest and grown tangled in the blanket. Her hand was near, but just as he considered holding it again the room began to lighten, and the faint sounds of morning birds drifted through the window.

“I’ve kept you up all night,” Belle said quietly.

“Ah, well… that’s all right. I’ll just cancel my morning appointments.”

She chuckled a little at that, though her eyelids had grown heavy. And so instead he offered his hand to help her up and back to the faux-bed beside the fire. Then he set three new logs on the fire, pulled a second blanket over her, and moved away.

“Adam.”

He’d already reached the door, planning to sleep there from now on in case… well, in case. But at his name he turned and saw Belle watching him. She pursed her lips, glanced to where he’d been about to lie on the floor, then looked back up at him. “You shouldn’t sleep in the cold.”

“Oh, no… I mean, it’s not that cold. I have a built-in blanket, after all,” he said, tugging awkwardly at the fur around his neck.

She smiled. “You slept beside the fire, though. Before I took your bed.”

He shrugged, though his heart rate had doubled with her words. It doubled again as Belle moved closer to the fire and patted the space beside her. And he realized as she did that he very much wished to accept the offer.

 _I mean, she’s right. It **has** been cold, _he reasoned within himself. _And there’s plenty of blankets, so there’s no reason to get too close. Plus I could keep better watch over her this way. It’s a practical solution._

Adam could almost feel the prince rolling his eyes. Still, he didn’t let that bother him, deciding now was as good a time as ever to be practical as he moved back the way he’d come. He sat down slowly at the farthest edges of the blankets and lay on his back, paws resting on his stomach. And then he stared at the ceiling, trying to force his heart to slow down even a little bit. It was beating so damn hard he was absolutely certain she could hear it.

Eventually, he couldn’t take it any longer, and dared a sideways glance. He caught her eyes immediately, and she flushed. They both laughed little awkwardly.

“You know,” he said, looking back at the ceiling. “I slept outside an entire winter once, before I found this place.”

Belle gasped. “You did?”

“I thought, perhaps, I could make myself hibernate—”

She was already laughing before he could finish. He grinned, and finally rolled onto his side to face her. “Yes well, as you’ve probably gathered, I cannot. It was a very cold… very miserable winter. I eventually took refuge in the barn of some unsuspecting old farmer.”

Belle sobered. “If I had known, I would have taken you in.”

“And I would have eaten your husband for you.”

She snorted, pulling the blanket to her chin and closing her eyes. “Good.”

Adam watched quietly as her breathing grew gentle and slow; meanwhile, his own mind drifted off, rewriting stories of the past. In one, Belle’s father took them on a wrong turn en route to Paris and happened upon his castle instead. In another, Adam caught Gaston alone in the woods and tore out his throat. (There were, in truth, several variations of that one.) And in another Belle really did take him in that long, terrible winter, and then they left her equally terrible village behind, together.

In every story, things had gone differently. In every story… he had been there for her.

Afraid she might open her eyes and spot all these thoughts written across his face, Adam rolled onto his back again. He’d entered that dangerous territory, he realized, that dark and deadly sinkhole called _regret_ that had plagued him his entire life. And so he forced the thoughts away, and returned to the now.

It was a little more pleasant here, he thought, remembering the way Belle had looked at him from his chair, the fact that he’d really managed to make her feel better. Had he ever in his life done that for anyone? Adam felt that warm feeling pulse through him all over again, but it faded fast as he remembered just why she’d felt so badly in the first place. Only hours ago she’d stood on the edge of that cliff, and he knew only too well the kind of dark and desperate feelings that had brought her there.

And suddenly he was in the past again, the real past. Except for the first time it wasn’t his alone. All those days he’d spent as a prisoner in his own home… she had too. All those years he’d spent mourning those he’d failed to save… she had too. All that time he’d felt so horribly, incredibly alone…

_She had too._

Adam stared up at the ceiling, faint rays of morning light beginning to creep into the room. He needed to sleep, but his chest was far too full to rest, a new kind of ache building up inside that only grew more and more uncomfortable until he finally acknowledged it.

It was a desire to be near her. And this wasn’t near enough.

But of course, they’d touched already, and the memories of holding her in his arms and of her hand in his left him a little breathless where he lay. It seemed a long-standing need within had been awakened, and each touch just made him ache for more of the same.

He sucked in a breath, long and silent. Slowly, almost painfully so, he let his hand slide into the space between them. It would have to be enough, he decided, and closed his eyes.

A moment passed. Then a hand touched his in return.

And he smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to those leaving reviews! It keeps this story going. This chapter was such a pain, and I almost threw in the towel, but fortunately my stubbornness won out :) Let me know what you think!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys! I'm... ALIVE! hahaha not sorry
> 
> But seriously, thank you for your patience. I've had a lot going on, but haven't given up on this yet. Also I really suck at responding to comments, but they do mean a lot to me and every time I get one I work on the next chapter a little more :) xoxo

“Are you sure about this?”

“Oh yes,” Belle said. She stood on the edge of a narrow river, clear water feeding into an eddy churning quietly against the bank. She breathed in the crisp air, then turned back to where Adam stood in the snow. “It isn’t the first time I’ve taken a winter dip.”

“But the mountain water…” He frowned deeply, eyeing the small river as though it were the Nile itself. “I’m telling you, it’s incredibly cold.”

“If I wait any longer, I’ll scare off every living creature in this forest with my stench.” Belle untied her cloak and hung it on a nearby branch. “Besides, I’m tougher than I look.”

He sighed. “I know.” Then he blinked, and looked up at her with wide eyes. “I-I mean, that you’re— not that you stink! You don’t.”

Belle smirked, and took the clean towels and clothes he held in his arms. He didn’t seem to notice, however, glaring at the river once again.

Belle glanced that way, then back at him with a raised brow. “Um…”

“Hang on.” He turned around, scanning the thinly-spread trees for several long moments. At last he stepped towards them, picking out a large, fallen truck and prying it loose of the ice and moss with a single tug. Then he returned, prize in tow, and with a giant _splash_ it landed in the water, one end resting on the opposite bank and the other in the muddy snow on their own. Adam adjusted it once, twice, then finally stood and rested his hands on his hips. “Just so you have something to hold onto,” he explained. “The rocks on the bottom are slippery.”

Had Belle been her younger, prouder self, she might have told him she was perfectly capable of taking a bath without killing herself. The thought made her pause, however, and she flushed. She hadn’t exactly given him much confidence in that, had she? “Thank you,” she said instead, the shame leaving her hot despite the cold mountain wind.

“Sure.” He brought a paw to the back of his neck. “I’ll just, um… I’ll go now.” He turned, heading back the way they’d come. Then he paused, and looked back. “I’ll stay outside, near the house. Just— just shout, if you need anything.” Then, sucking in a breath, he ducked his head and disappeared between the trees.

She’d really worried him. Of course she had. The heat persisted, seeping into her gut and leaving her nauseous. Belle glanced back at the freezing water, suddenly a very welcoming sight.

She undressed quickly, and took a quick assessment of her injuries. They were healing well, it seemed, more yellow than blue now and less tender to the touch. She couldn’t wait for them to be gone— less for the freedom from pain than the freedom from their memory.

Banishing the thought, she picked up the bar of soap tucked between the towels and stepped into the freezing water. As a girl, Belle would have abandoned all caution and leapt straight in; she could almost see that child now, running atop the old log and diving into the churning water, shrieking with glee as she emerged. Belle smiled a little at the thought, resting a hand on the tree and walking carefully into the calmest part instead. Once the water reached her waist, she gripped the tree with both hands, sucked in a breath, and pulled herself beneath the surface.

She came up quickly, resisting the urge to holler at the cold. She’d rather not have Adam rushing back only to find her soaked and naked in the middle of the clear water. She flushed again, though for a very different reason from before.

Shaking her head, Belle got to work. She washed her hair twice, then her body three times over before she was satisfied. Finally, she submerged herself once more and let the flowing water wash every last bit of filth away.

Every last bit of _Gaston_ away.

She stayed beneath the water until her lungs ached, until she no longer felt the cold or anything at all—then finally rose back into the bright air. Now that her body had acclimated to the water, Belle realized she had no desire to leave it. So, rolling onto her back, she floated in the gentle eddy and stared up at the sky. It was a crystal blue, and with her ears half submerged all sounds of the forest were muffled and still. A few birds flitted between the trees, the branches bouncing gently in the mountain winds.

That wind brushed over the water, and she filled her lungs with it. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so alive.

It only been a week since the darkness had pulled her to the cliff, one week that Adam had shared the space beside her. She’d already grown used to him there, to his long deep breaths that rumbled the floor beneath them and the way his fingers flexed against hers as he dreamt…

That was something she didn’t fully understand. The way their hands found one another each night, and how this was never spoken of during the day. In fact, Belle had woken each morning to an empty bed and Adam outside chopping firewood, or tending to Bonne, or simply sitting in his chair and staring out the small window with a frown. Simply an early riser, perhaps.

Still… she wondered.

Obviously, it was a peculiar situation. This place, her history… his curse. But she knew one thing— that a beautiful form mattered very little to her. After all, she’d been wed to the most handsome man in town, and he’d made her life unbearable. And her own beauty had been the cause of it all. No, beauty was nothing but a lie.

She looked back up at the trees, the birds, the gentle clouds in the sky… and frowned.

**_All of this— it’s a lie too._ **

The voice had been silent since the night on the cliff, and Belle groaned at its return.

 ** _You think this will last?_** it asked. ** _You really think he wants you here, bothering him, intruding on his peace?_**

This again. The voice was persistent, but not very creative. _He cares about me,_ Belle thought back. _He listens to me._ She smiled, watching a cloud float by that had an uncanny resemblance to a large, clawed hand. _And he’s so kind, and gentle..._

**_And you’re desperate. Really, you off your husband and just leap at the next male that talks to you?_ **

_I’m not… I don’t even know if…_ Belle stopped, scowling. She didn’t want to think about this anymore. And so she rolled over and swam back the short distance to shore. She dried off quickly, shivering at the now-unwelcome breeze, and reached for the pile of clean clothes. Adam had left her one of his shirts— threadbare and stiff, but clean, falling to her ankles when she put it on. There was also a robe, less worn than the shirt, which was— well, to call it enormous was almost sinfully understated. Still, a head of wet hair had left her very cold, and the shirt alone was quite indecent, so Belle bunched up the robe about her waist and wrapped it around herself nearly three times over before securing the sash with a large bow. Then she slipped her bare feet into her boots and turned to her old clothes, washing them in the river as she had herself before hanging them over the nearest branch to dry.

Then she tromped back to the house, and— despite the heavy, borrowed clothes, despite the nagging voice that hadn’t quite left— felt lighter than she had in years.

Adam was leaning against the side of the cabin, arms crossed, that perpetual scowl on his face that was always there when he didn’t realize she was watching. But at the sight of her it vanished, and he quickly pushed himself upright and approached her with an almost-spring in his step. Belle’s heart fluttered a little as he did, recalling the conversation she’d just had with herself.

“You didn’t drown,” he said, looking breathless.

“I didn’t drown.”

He smiled a little sheepishly, gaze sweeping briefly over her makeshift outfit. And while his smile remained, it changed somehow. “Feel better?”

“Yes,” she answered honestly, forgetting the unpleasant thoughts and remembering those few moments of peace in the water. “There’s something exhilarating about—” She was about to say, _floating nude in a mountain river,_ but caught herself quickly. “Well… it was refreshing.”

A few extra teeth were showing along his left jaw now— a smirk?— and Belle wondered if he’d guessed at her thoughts anyway. “You _are_ brave.”

He helped her back to the house, where she knelt beside a well-stocked fire to dry her hair. Another towel lay there, and atop it was the brush she’d seen in the outhouse now free of every strand of fur that had been there before.

 _So thoughtful,_ she thought tenderly. She reached for the brush and pulled it through her tangled hair, watching the flames dance in the hearth beside her. _Could he really have been so bad as he claims?_

Belle did not believe the curse itself was proof enough. From the stories she’d heard, witches and faeries were petty and senseless in their magic, and she wondered if this wasn’t just another tale like the rest.

 ** _You just don’t like the idea that Adam could have been like_ him _,_** came the voice. **_Gaston might have turned out better too had he suffered such a curse._**

Belle frowned deeply. She imagined that, watching the Gaston in her mind grow more terrifying than ever, powerful and bloodthirsty and wild. He would have truly become a monster, finally giving in to his deepest desires to roam the land and kill without ceasing.

 _No,_ she thought. _No… I don’t think he would have. I don’t think they were the same at all._

She hoped not, anyway.

She glanced behind her now. Adam was focused intently on the ceiling, running a filthy rag along one of the crooked beams while dust billowed in the air around his head. Nearly all of it settled right back where it had started, the rest floating to the floor. Unaware of this, Adam stepped through it as he worked, leaving a trail of wolf-like footprints in his wake.

Suddenly, he sniffed the air, then turned abruptly to see the small oven smoking. He swore under his breath and ran over, setting the rag on the stovetop and crouching down to stare inside. But a moment passed before the rag caught fire where he’d forgotten it. He cursed again, louder this time, and threw the cloth to the floor before stomping out the flames with his foot.

Belle had to press a hand to her mouth to stop her laughter.

Adam had the window open now, fanning the air with the ruined rag and muttering a fresh string of profanities under his breath. The cold air crept across the room, but that wasn’t all. A creature with black fur and yellow, upturned eyes had followed, leaping up onto the windowsill, the back of the stove, and finally sauntering up Adam’s arm and taking a place on his shoulder.

“You have a cat!?”

Adam yelped, sending the animal on his shoulder leaping into the air before it came back down and clawed fiercely at his shirt.

Belle sat tall now, both hands on her hips as she stared at them in disbelief. “You have a cat, and you didn’t tell me!”

“He is _not_ my cat,” Adam insisted, prying the animal from his shirt claw-by-claw. “He just comes around when he’s hungry.” He finally pulled himself free, holding the cat at arm’s length in both hands and giving it a stern look. “And bothers me.”

Belle smirked. “Sounds like he’s your cat to me.”

Adam sighed, setting the creature down on the floor and returning to the smoking oven. “He’s a little demon is what he is,” he grumbled.

The cat had wandered over towards Belle now, eyeing her suspiciously for a moment but quickly slipping into her lap. “Aw, he’s nothing but a big sweetheart,” she cooed, running a hand over his head as he purred happily.

Adam gaped at them for a moment, but quickly turned back to his task.

“So,” Belle went on, for she hadn’t had quite enough fun just yet. “I suppose if he isn’t yours, then he doesn’t have a name?”

Adam was silent for a very long moment. Then, without turning around, he offered a dramatic sigh. “It’s Cesar.”

Belle grinned, but said nothing more. Instead she looked back down at Cesar and scratched him gently behind the ears.

Adam joined them a minute later, setting out a bowl of milk which Cesar drank heartily, and left her a plate of more dried meats and a few wild berries. “I burned our dinner,” he said. His brows came together, and he closed his eyes. “Forgive me. I’m not very good at this.”

Belle glanced at the still-smoking stove; the dusty footprints along the floor; the burnt rag on the windowsill. No, perhaps he wasn’t very good at this, but it was more than anyone had done for her before. “I don’t mind,” she said softly.

He only pursed his lips, and glanced towards the window. “I sense another storm,” he said. “The winters here come early. It’s possible the pass will be buried within a fortnight.” He looked back at her with an unreadable expression. “And we will unable to leave the mountain until spring.”

“Oh.”

A heavy silence fell over the room. Belle bit her lip, staring into her lap, not wanting to hear what she feared was coming. Realizing that, perhaps, the voice in her head had been right.

“I didn’t mean to trap you here,” he said quietly. “If you wish to leave, I’ll carry you down, take you… take you anywhere you wish to go.”

There was nowhere she wished to go. There was nowhere she _could_ go. “I-I could help you,” she said quickly, gripping the robe she wore in both hands looking up. “Do the cleaning, a-and the cooking, and—”

“No.”

It was like a ton of bricks hit her all at once. Belle looked back into her lap, heart heavy and aching in her gut. So that was it, then. He’d grown tired of her, and whatever affection she’d felt growing between them must have been nothing but her own desperate imaginings.

“Belle.” His voice was gentle; no doubt to soften the blow. “I’ve lived alone for a long… long time. Just having someone here…”

 _It’s too much for him,_ she thought, squeezing her eyes closed. _He’s too used to living alone, and he can’t take it anymore._

He sucked in a deep breath, and went on. “Having _you_ here with me… that would be enough.”

Belle’s heart skipped a beat, and she looked up. “What did you say?”

“It’s just… he made you do all that, all those years.” He was staring across the room, frowning deeply. “I won’t make you do it anymore. This isn’t a… I mean, I don’t want…” He grimaced, scratching the top of his head and humming deeply. “I guess, what I mean to say, is that it would be nice just to have a... companion, you know?” he asked. Finally he looked back, offering a pained smile. “Besides the damn cat.”

Belle laughed a little, but soon felt the tears tracing down her cheeks. It seemed she’d lost all control of them since she’d entered this place.

“Belle…”

“I’m sorry. It’s just, no one’s ever…” But she couldn’t finish, for her throat had grown tight. He wanted her there after all; the voice had been _wrong._ “I was so sure you wanted to be rid of me,” she managed at last.

Adam’s eyes grew pained at her words. “That’s the last thing I want.” He sucked in a breath, and let it out roughly. “Look,” he said. “Those people you grew up with? They’re idiots.”

“Adam…”

“They’re _idiots,”_ he insisted. He bit his lip then, glancing down at his fingers. They flexed where they rested near hers, curling back in on themselves quickly. “Belle, you’re… you’re a really nice person to be around.”

Belle pursed her lips, feeling more tears pooling in her eyes. “Thank you,” she said, patting her face dry against his robe. “And forgive me. I promise not to cry so much from here on out.”

He was staring at their hands now, so close that if either of them moved they would surely brush against each other. But they didn’t need to, for despite the bright rays of the evening sun piercing across the floor and laying all of it to bare… he reached out and took her fingers in his own. “Don’t apologize for that,” he said softly. He brushed his thumb across her knuckles once, and then again. “This is a good place to cry.”

Belle stared at him. _There is no way you were ever like Gaston._

He cleared his throat then, loudly, but didn’t let go. “Anyway! The only reason I brought it up was because you can’t eat like this all winter,” he explained, nodding towards her plate. “And I suspect you would like some new clothes.”

“Well, yes,” she admitted. “But I can’t go back for mine now…”

“Of course not. I was just, er…” His fingers twitched against hers, and he seemed to be avoiding her gaze. “You know… planning to head into one of the northern towns tonight.”

“But how will you…” Belle paused, her thoughts suddenly catching up with her. “Oh, no. No.”

“I only take from the wealthiest estates,” he said. Then he raised a heavy brow. “I can’t exactly waltz into the marketplace for what I need.”

Belle pursed her lips. “I suppose not.”

“I promise you, they won’t miss a thing.” He leaned a little closer, and smirked. “I was one of them once, remember?”

For some strange reason, Belle flushed. She nodded slowly.

“Perfect.” He finally pulled his hand away, resting both paws on his knees. “Now then. Before I go… there’s something I wanted to show you.” And before she could answer, he’d crossed the room, opened the cellar, and lowered himself inside.

Belle blinked, forgetting her dinner and following slowly. “What is it?” she asked, peeking curiously towards the dark opening.

Adam’s head popped back up from the floor. “It’s a surprise.”

Belle’s heart fluttered again. How strange he was acting! She tried to look around him, but he raised a giant finger to stop her. “None of that,” he said, and grinned. “You have to close your eyes.”

She gave him a look, though her insides were all butterflies. And so she closed them.

Waiting behind the darkness of her eyelids, Belle heard a muffled grunt, then an enormous _thud_ that rattled the floor beneath her feet. “Can I open them?” she asked.

“Not yet.”

She heard the object being dragged over toward her, scraping roughly against the old floor. “Now can I open them?” Belle whispered.

She sensed Adam move beside her. “Yes. Now.”

She opened one eye, then the other, and looked upon an enormous leather-bound wooden trunk. The latch was gold, though tarnished, and an ornate family crest had been carved into its surface. “What’s this?” she asked.

Adam didn’t answer, but instead held up a tiny key, gold like the latch, between his thumb and forefinger. Belle watched, chest brimming with excitement, as he knelt beside the trunk, slid the key into place, and turned the lock. The lid cracked open, and as it did the smell of old parchment greeted her. She knew that smell, that memory, and before he’d even forced open the lid she knew exactly what she would see inside.

“Oh,” she gasped. The tears tempted her again, but she wouldn’t let them. It would only blur the titles on each of those beautiful, glorious _books._ Instead she knelt slowly beside Adam, smiling and shaking her head. “This is worse than the cat…”

He chuckled. “Sorry. I wanted to save it.”

He didn’t explain what he wanted to save it for, but Belle was too distracted to care. “I’ve never seen so many books in all my life,” she said reverently.

“You haven’t?”

She ran her fingers along the covers, worn soft with time and use. “Where did they come from?” she asked. She stopped suddenly, and looked back at him with a raised brow. “Stolen?”

“Nope!” He paused, however, then furrowed his brows as he glanced back at the trunk. “Er… maybe a few. But most I uncovered from my home’s remains.”

“Really?”

He seemed to brighten, oddly enough, and leaned an elbow on the corner of the trunk while he went on. “We had a library. Best room in the place. Balconies that went eight— no, more like ten floors up,” he claimed, raising a paw above his head to illustrate. “And _scads_ of books. Mountains of books! More books than you could read in a lifetime.”

Belle smiled wide. Surely he was exaggerating, or the passing of so much time had altered his memory. Still, it was a beautiful thing to imagine.

“Of course, I rarely used it when I had it…” Adam trailed off, looking looked a little lost for a moment before he recovered and glanced back at her. “You would have loved it, though.”

“It sounds like something from a fairy tale.”

“Maybe so…” He sucked in a breath, and as he blew it out it ruffled the fur along his brow. “Well, anyway. This is what’s left of it. It isn’t much in comparison, but…”

“It’s wonderful.”

The corner of his mouth twitched up at that. He reached back for the key, twisting it free from the lock before turning to face her. Then he took her hand in his, turned it over, and placed the little key in her palm. “Then it’s yours.”

Belle looked wide-eyed between the key, the chest, and finally Adam. She tried to speak, but nothing came out. Instead she watched dumbly as he folded her fingers over the key and gave them a pat. “So!” he said, not giving her a chance to argue anyway. “Which will you read first?”

Belle recovered— barely— and glanced back at the covers. She reached out with her free hand, tracing the letters along their bindings, and realized she didn’t know a single—

“Oh!” she realized, spotting a familiar name. “You have Shakespeare!”

 _“Naturally.”_ He stopped, blinked, then shook his head. “I mean… did you have a favorite play?”

“Well, I only ever got my hands on _Romeo and Juliet_ ,” she admitted. “But I did adore it.”

He groaned. “That’s the worst one! All that heartache, and pining…”

“You have _Geneivieve and Lancelot_ ,” she smirked, poking him in the chest.

The fur along his shoulders and the top of his head went up on end. “I-I… that’s different,” he stammered. “It’s got knights and men and swords and… things.”

“Yes. _Things.”_

He let go of her hand then, and Belle almost regretted teasing him. Almost. “For that,” he huffed, digging through the chest for a moment before pulling forth a massive tome. “You are stuck with _Sir Thomas Browne’s Encyclopedia_ tonight.”

She laughed, and held up the key. “I have this, remember?”

“Ah! True.” He put the encyclopedia back, and pulled out a much smaller book. “Actually… try this one.”

Belle took it in both hands, and read the title. _Othello._ She looked up at him, and smiled. “I will.”

He smiled back, just for a moment, watching her with those strangely bright eyes. Then the room grew dark, and he turned to the window just as the sun disappeared over the edge. When he looked back at her, his smile was gone. “There’s something else.”

Belle watched as he reached into the front pocket of his shirt and pulled out an old cloth. He placed it in one palm then unfolded it carefully, revealing a shard of glass no larger than her pinky finger.

“It’s a piece of the mirror, given to me by the enchantress,” he explained, frowning down at the little object. “You remember from the story?”

Belle looked at it, confused but curious. “Yes…”

He closed his fingers carefully around the shard, then shoved his free hand into the pocket of his pants. From there he produced a folded piece of parchment, which he handed it to her. She unfolded it slowly, and read the rough letters in the center.

_For Belle._

“If you start to feel, um…” He paused, pursing his lips. “In _danger,”_ he settled on. “Or need me back for any reason at all, throw that into the fire.”

Belle looked between the parchment, and the mirror in his palm. “I don’t understand.”

“In its current state, the mirror will only show me a portion of whatever I wish to see. It’s a real pain in the—” He coughed into his fist. “… a real pain. But it also won’t show me something that doesn’t exist— which is what I’m going to exploit.”

Belle blinked. “I think I understand less than before.”

“Here, watch.” He held out the tiny mirror again, and spoke.  “ _Show me Belle’s name, written in my hand_ …” He paused, wrinkling his nose. “It’s a little awkward I suppose, but— ah, there.”

Belle gasped, for a harsh glow had filled Adam’s palm and left greenish shadows across his face. It faded as quickly as it had appeared, leaving the glass the very color of the parchment in her hand. As Belle leaned close, she noticed the black curve of a letter in its surface—the upper curve of the final _e_ in her name.

“Now,” Adam went on. He took the parchment from her, strode over to the fire, and tossed it into the flames. Belle moved beside him, watching the paper dissolve into ash. As soon as it had, Adam repeated the command to the mirror once again. Except this time, the enchanted fragment did nothing at all.

“It doesn’t work if the words are gone,” Belle breathed.

“Exactly,” Adam said. “So if I give the order and the mirror doesn’t respond… I’ll know to return, no matter where I am.”

Belle was still staring at that tiny piece of glass. It seemed so ordinary now, something she’d have tossed out as rubbish had she not known better. And yet it was this object that held the power to connect them, no matter how far apart. “Adam…” she breathed. She looked up at him, eyes bright. “This is quite brilliant.”

He shrugged, though the corner of his mouth quirked up. But then it fell again as he looked around the room— towards the roaring fire, the mountain of wood in the corner, the half dozen extra furs he must have brought up earlier while she slept. “You’ll be all right, then?” he asked. “While I’m gone?”

Belle followed his gaze, setting her sights on the chest filled with her own personal treasure. And finally it made sense, why he’d chosen this night to give it to her. He was afraid— so afraid to leave her alone that he’d given her the perfect distraction from the cruel voice in her head. He’d given her another reason to stay alive.

That shame began to swell in up inside once again. She nodded slowly.  

Adam moved to the table, retrieving another piece of parchment lying there and scribbling her name in the center once again. “And you’ll burn it?” he asked, returning to her side and handing her the fresh note. “The minute… the _moment_ you feel something’s wrong?”

She bit her lip, and nodded again. “I will.”

He took a step closer, reaching out to hold her arm in one giant paw. “Just stay where you are,” he said softly. He leaned down then, face only inches from hers, and his warmth seeped into the air all around her. “After you burn it. Stay here… and wait for me.”

Belle sucked in a shaky breath. She wouldn’t let herself stand on that cliff side again. She couldn’t. And right then, she realized that she needed this promise as much as he did. “I’ll stay,” she whispered. Then she looked up, right into those breathing blue eyes. “You have my word.”

* * *

Adam watched as the mirror’s glow faded… again. He’d already lost count of how many times he’d checked it now. He’d also underestimated the brightness of that ugly green glow, and had to keep the mirror partially wrapped in its cloth to avoid lighting up half the forest every time he spoke to it.

Except his worry was only slowing him down. And so Adam pocketed the mirror with a sigh, and stared up at the towering estate looming between the trees. He hadn’t come to this one in some years; it belonged to a single father and his daughter, and Adam far preferred the larger households. They simply had more to steal. But tonight, however, this house was the closest, and he didn’t want to venture any farther from Belle than he had to. It would have to do.

**_What the hell do you think you’re doing?_ **

Adam frowned. The voice had been quiet for some days now, and he’d almost forgotten it was there. _What do you mean?_ he thought back, feeling irritable. _I’m getting supplies for—_

**_Not that. With the woman._ **

_Her name is Belle._

**_Ah yes, your “companion,”_** the prince mocked, and Adam could practically see his pale, ring-covered fingers forming the quotations mid-air.

Adam frowned deeply. _What’s wrong with that? She wants to stay._

**_She can’t break the curse. Or did you forget?_ **

Adam’s cheeks grew hot. “That’s— I’m not— I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stammered aloud _._ He looked pointedly back at the mansion, though he found himself squeezing his fists together. _Nothing’s happening. We’re just— friends. We’re friends._

The prince was silent for a long moment _. **My god, you’re serious,**_ he said at last. ** _You really are an idiot._**

Adam scowled, but couldn’t stop himself from pulling out the mirror once again and muttering the words. It glowed, and he stared at the small portion of parchment it revealed for a long moment before putting it away once again. Then he gripped the straps of his empty bags and crept through the mansion’s dark gardens.

“Mother, I don't see why everybody else seems to have such nice things to wear and I always end up in these old rags!”

Adam ducked quickly into the shadows as the words pierced the air from above.

“This sash!” came another voice. “Why, I wouldn’t be seen dead in it!”

Two young women, it seemed, though they sounded far more like whining cats than human beings. Adam wrinkled his nose; the sound reminded him too much of the kinds of people he’d once surrounded himself with. Too much of that stupid, selfish prince that may never leave him alone.

“You should talk!” shouted the first voice. “These beads! I'm sick of looking at them!”

Adam heard the window upstairs creak open, and a moment later a long chain of blue beads landed not far from his feet in the darkness. He raised his brows. _Yep. This place will do._

He picked up the necklace—  why not?— and waited until the voices died down, until a large carriage arrived and took the obnoxious nobles away into the night. Then he checked the mirror once more, and got to work.

He raided the cellars first— for the first time stealing things like apples and grain, pans and bowls, a small flour mill and a long wooden mixing spoon. Belle had helped him with the list— reluctantly at first, but by the end of it all she seemed to forget he was going out to steal each item rather than fetch them from the market for her.

 _“I’ll bake you a cheese soufflé,”_ she’d told him, those big, hazel eyes checking over her tidy list. Belle had beautiful penmanship; just watching her fingers sweep over the page left him mesmerized.

Adam suddenly realized he was smiling dumbly at the list while he stood in the middle of a dim hall. He quickly shook his head. He was upstairs now, and couldn’t afford to lose focus here. His victims might be gone, but their servants could still be lurking anywhere.

The thought made him pause, and he stared at the little glowing candelabra he’d picked up from a table downstairs. The sorrow swelled in his chest, but he pushed it away. _Focus._

He searched the nearest three rooms before finding what he’d come for. A dressing room, twice the size of his current home and lush with elegant furnishings and half a dozen wardrobes. Most were open, their contents scattered across the room— dresses and scarves and hats that could be sold to feed a village, all left to be trampled underfoot.

The sight of it made him sick. And the memory that his own dressing chamber had been far larger, his clothes a hundred times as expensive as these… that made him even sicker.

_I was such a fool._

Another thought to torture himself with later. For now, he stepped into the room, opening one of the undisturbed wardrobes and beginning his search. Belle said she could sew her own clothes— an immense relief, since he would rather not go digging too deeply among a strange woman’s intimate things.

The closet he’d chosen was full of shiny heeled shoes, so he moved to the next and finally found what he was looking for. Drawers filled with rolls of cloth, and the supplies to go with it. He found a large spool of thread without too much trouble, and the needles only after being pricked by one of the little bastards.

He paused, suddenly solemn again. It had been a long time since he’d gotten upset with household objects.

 _Fabric,_ he reminded himself. He checked the mirror again, then opened the next drawer and lifted the candelabra so he could see. He looked through the rolls of cloth inside, but was quickly disappointed. One was a deep mauve with an excessive amount of sequins, another a violent red with thick black stripes. There was even one in bright teal covered in bright orange squirrels and rabbits.

 ** _Good god,_** said the prince. Adam couldn’t disagree. Growling in annoyance, he yanked the offensive patterns from the drawer and tossed them across the room. It was already a mess anyway. He tossed out one hideous roll of fabric after another, not caring whether he tore the dreadful stuff while he did. No one should be wearing it anyway.

And then the drawer was empty— almost. Something had been shoved into the very back, slightly wrinkled but otherwise unharmed. He pulled it out, more curious than anything; this had to be the worst of them all. But when the light of the candles fell on it, he realized he’d been wrong. It was a simple yet elegant cloth, with a subtle floral pattern all stitched in the same color: a soft, golden yellow. It was the color of his childhood, of warm summers in the garden and shared blankets under the firelight when it snowed. A color that had left his life long before he’d ever encountered magic.

Adam realized he was gripping the fabric in a shaking paw, and quickly loosened his grip. He shook his head, looked back at the cloth, and then carefully tucked it into his bag.

In the lowest drawers he found other non-insane colors and patterns, and grabbed several more along with a large roll of soft cream cloth in case Belle needed it for her under… things. He blushed at the thought— actually blushed, as though he were a teenage boy and not approaching forty. He hurriedly tucked everything into this now-bulging sacks while the prince laughed at him.

Back in the hall, he checked the mirror again. The corridor glowed with its green light, and just as it was beginning to fade again the room across the way caught his eye. Floor to ceiling shelves, worn armchairs, and that smell…

He stepped inside. The library was empty, quiet, and filled to the brim with beautiful, expensive, untouched books. Adam hummed, moving in further. He still had time, if he hurried. He scanned the covers quickly, but found himself disappointed with the selection. Until…

He nearly laughed aloud. _Romeo and Juliet_ stared back at him from the shelf in flashy gold letters on a bright red binding. He took a step closer, and smiled.

 ** _Don’t you— don’t you dare,_** gasped the prince.

Adam ignored him, grinning to himself as he plucked the book from its place and shoved it into his bag.

**_Oh my god._ **

Having now found more than what he’d come for, Adam went to the nearest window and pushed it open. Far below were the gardens, and to the north a barn, and inside…

Geese. He could smell them from here. When was the last time he’d eaten anything but deer, or those tough, scrawny little rabbits? Adam’s mouth started to water. Sometimes… well, sometimes he really was just a big, hungry beast.

Blowing out the candle, he set it on the nearest shelf, swinging over the windowsill and scurrying down the outer wall into the gardens below. He touched down quickly, then crept between the rows of the tall, manicured bushes towards the barn. He could hear them now, a strange tremor of honks upon the midnight breeze. Just outside the doors he paused, checking the mirror again. It glowed bright in his closed palm, and dimmed. And so, in perfect silence, he pulled open the door and moved inside.

Dozens of geese greeted him, perched on four nesting shelves that lined the walls and sleeping soundly. Well, all but one, which was now staring at him with beady black eyes. It opened its mouth to cry out— but Adam was faster, reaching out and encasing its long throat in his paw.

“Sorry,” he whispered, then snapped its neck.

The prince gagged. Adam rolled his eyes, grabbing three more sleeping birds in the same manner and swinging them over his shoulder before he turned back toward the door.

But then he froze. For a bright, very familiar green glow was seeping into the barn from the night air beyond.

Adam stopped breathing. Eyes not leaving the glowing doorway, he reached slowly for the shard of glass in his pocket to make sure he hadn’t dropped the object on his way inside. But no— it was still there, buried in the cloth deep inside his pocket.

The light shifted across the barn’s dusty floor. Adam forced himself forward one silent step, then another, heart hammering in his chest as he dared a glance outside.

The light that greeted him was so bright that it took his eyes a moment to adjust. More colors appeared now, golds and blues and pinks, all dancing across the gardens and the sky above. As his eyes finally grew used to it, Adam finally saw their source. A woman— older, with a cheery face, waving a stick about her head as though she were conducting some invisible orchestra. And beside her was a girl— a servant, based on her ragged clothes— watching in amazement as a carriage, six horses, and several finely-dressed footman appeared from thin air beside her.

 _An enchantress,_ Adam realized, watching more sparks shooting from old woman’s wand. He gripped the edge of the door so hard it splintered beneath his fingers, wishing he could run but having no means of escape without crashing through the opposite wall of the barn.

And then enchantress waved her wand once more, and the girl herself vanished in that bright, green light. And as it grew dim once again, a beautiful, stunning young woman in a flowing white ball gown stood in her place. A _different_ young woman, Adam realized.

He watched as she entered the carriage, as the footman took their places, as the enchantress waved them off into the night. And then, with one final wave of her wand, the old woman’s ugliness melted away to reveal—

Adam flew back from the door. The prince inside was screaming in terror, and Adam’s own hand was pressed to his mouth lest he scream himself. If the birds had awoken at his movement, he didn’t hear them. All he could sense were the great tremors that wracked his body as the truth flooded over him like the icy mountain river.

That wasn’t just an enchantress. It was _his_ enchantress.

The light from the doorway shifted again. Had Adam the ability to sweat in this form, he’d have been soaked in it by now; instead, the desperate urge to pant overcame him, but he didn’t even dare to breathe at the moment lest he be discovered. 

And so he watched as the light crept across the floor, fading so painfully slowly Adam thought he might pass out from lack of air. And then, finally, it vanished, and he finally let out the breath he’d been holding.

And then then entire barn filled with light.

“I knew I smelled more of my magic around here.”

There she stood, exactly as he remembered her. That golden hair, floating in the air as though emerged in an invisible sea; the enormous gown, sparkling beneath a thousand emeralds stitched into its surface; that face, pale and beautiful and more terrifying than anything he’d ever known.

 _“Enchantress,”_ Adam gasped. He fell to his knees, letting the bags slide from his arms as he pressed his palms and forehead to the floor. Every inch of him was trembling.

He felt her draw close. “Remind me…” A cold hand touched his chin, lifting his face to meet hers. Adam didn’t fight her— he didn’t dare— staring in unblinking horror as she scanned his eyes. “Who were you, again? You know, before I…” She dropped his chin, waving her wand lazily in explanation.

Adam blinked. She didn’t remember? “A-Adam,” he stammered. He bowed his head once more, staring at his paws. “Prince… Prince Adam, of the Northern Realm.”

A moment passed— and then she laughed, long and loud. The remaining birds woke at the sound, honking furiously until another green glow filled the room and silenced them. “Oh my,” the enchantress gasped, voice still laced with amusement. “How could I forget that one?”

Adam only stared at the floor, face hot with shame. A goose fell to the ground beside him. It was dead.

“You never wanted to rule anyway, did you?” she asked brightly.

Adam sucked in a breath, and finally looked up. “No.”

“Well then, it looks like I did you a favor.”

 ** _A favor?_** growled the prince. **_A FAVOR?!_** He’d emerged from where he’d been hiding deep in Adam’s mind, now snarling with boiling hot fury. **_I told them, I TOLD them you’d bring nothing but death. A-and I was right! And— and you know what, I’d throw you out again. I would! You ugly, filthy HAG—_**

The woman was examining one long, sharp nail, unaware of the prince’s protests. “I’m afraid I’ve gotten better since I made you,” she said absently.

She didn’t elaborate. Adam swallowed roughly and then asked, “Better?”

“Oh, you know,” she said, as if that explained it. She was looking back towards the half-open door, as though already bored with him.

And suddenly, with as much as he hadn’t wanted her to find him, Adam felt he couldn’t let her leave without doing… something. “That girl—” he blurted out.

She turned back, and raised a brow.

Adam bit his lip hard, but went on. “The girl, in the garden… did you curse her too?”

“Hmm?” She glanced that way, as though she’d already forgotten about it. “Oh!” she cried at once. “Oh, no. Actually, I gave that one a lovely new face for the evening. She’s a bit of plain thing on her own, you see.”

Adam frowned. _True beauty lies within,_ she’d told him long ago. Had he misunderstood?

“Of course, no one will believe her when she tells them what happened tomorrow. But _she’ll_ remember.” The enchantress grinned, clapping her hands together. “Oh, what fun! I’ll have to pop into the ball myself and see who she meets there.”

Adam didn’t understand; he must have been missing something. “But how does that help her?” he asked.

“Help her?” The woman cocked her head, as though the words were foreign on her tongue. “Whatever makes you think I’m trying to do that?”

“Oi! Who’s there?!”

The enchantress glanced over her shoulder at the shouts. “Time to go!” she trilled. Then she looked back at him, and raised a brow. “I made you immortal, right?”

But before Adam could reply, she was gone, vanishing in the blink of an eye. And in the doorway just beyond stood the mansion’s gardener, angry and old and holding a long-barreled gun.

Adam was too dazed from the previous encounter to properly react to this one. He glanced around himself, slowly realizing how it must look to find a creature like himself surrounded by dozens of slaughtered birds.

The man was fumbling with the gun now, squinting hard as his aging eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness. “Damn fox,” he grumbled. “How many times I gotta…” But then his words trailed off, and those eyes grew wide in horror.

Adam ignored the fact that he’d condescended to the level of an orange woodland creature as he scrambled to think of the best way out of this.

The man was still staring at him, utterly dumbstruck, and finally lifted the shotgun up with quaking arms. Sucking in a breath, Adam raised his paws and took a slow step forward. “Sir,” he said slowly. “I—”

The man screamed, and fired. Adam felt it like a blow to the chest, and a moment later he felt the wetness of his blood spilling into his fur… his lungs.

_Shit._

He heard the weapon cocking again, violent shouts still piercing the air. “Stop,” Adam gasped, and the sound was wet and hollow in the air. “Please, just— just hold on a—”

The man fired again. Adam stumbled to his knees where his palms found the damp, blood-soaked ground.

_Shit. Shit. Shit._

There wasn’t time to think about the pain, or about the sea of blood filling his chest and spilling over his fingers. The gardener was fumbling to reload now, and Adam wasn’t about to let him fire again. And so, with the only strength he had left, he reached out and took a swipe at the man with the back of one powerful paw. The blow was hard enough to throw the old gardener off his feet and into the heavy barn door, where he crumpled in a heap.

Adam stared at the unconscious form, then coughed up blood. He gasped, but couldn’t breathe. His heart… it had stopped beating.

And just as the world began to fade, Adam forced a trembling paw to retrieve that tiny shard of mirror once again. “Show me…” he croaked.

But he died before he could finish.


	8. Chapter 8

_“Rule three: I can't bring people back from the dead. It's not a pretty picture. I don't like doing it!”_

_Papa’s impression of the ancient genie boomed across the grand dining hall, and Adam’s laughter flitted along after it. Papa always made him laugh; he made all his sons laugh, in fact, for he was full of wild stories that only his youngest was too naïve to realize were grand exaggerations._

_Adam knelt in his chair now, leaning as far as he could from his place at the end of the table in order to catch Papa’s every word. Far-off places, daring sword fights, magic spells… a prince in disguise. Well, Aladdin wasn’t a_ real _prince, Adam figured, not like him._

_Though he sure had a lot of camels._

_Adam’s eyes brightened then, and he leaned further over the table. “Papa!” he cried. “Can we get a camel too?”_

_His father roared with laughter. “Ha! But why not?” he grinned. “A camel each, for all my boys!”_

_The four youngest sons cheered, while the two oldest chuckled. So preoccupied were they all that they nearly missed it when the door opened and a beautiful woman stepped into the dining hall. Her pale blond hair, so carefully set that morning, was now ruffled and dusted with snow._

_“Maman!” cried the twins, Jacques and John._

_“Where were you?” asked Aaron, the second youngest._

_Maman opened her mouth to speak, but Papa was quicker. “Your mother,” he declared, raising his fork, “has made it her duty to tend to every dying peasant from here to the border.”_

_“Not_ every _one,” Maman said quietly._

_“I don’t know why you bother, my dear,” Papa went on, picking up his knife and slicing through the large leg of ham that sat before him. “Pearls before swine, I say.”_

_Maman pursed her lips, but said nothing more. Instead she moved to the other side of the table, and sat very slowly as one of the footman pulled out her chair. She looked sad, Adam thought, and he wondered why._

_“Papa,” he said suddenly, brightening as an idea formed in his mind. “Do the genie part again, for Maman!”_

_The princess looked over at him, a question in her eyes._

_“It will make you smile,” Adam whispered._

_Her gaze softened. She reached out, and squeezed his small hand. “You already do.”_

_Papa had already obliged him his request, and the laughter entered the room once again. But almost as soon as he’d started another figure stepped into the hall— a tall, rotund man who didn’t break from his stiff posture as he leaned down to whisper in his master’s ear. The man pulled a small pocket watch from his vest, tapping the glass face in earnest._

_“Ah! Duty calls,” Papa sighed, pushing back his heavy chair and rising from the table._

_Adam watched his father leave, folding his arms and pouting. “I wish Papa wasn’t king,” he pouted. “He’s always so busy. When I grow up I’ll never work as much as he does.”_

_“He’s not king,” Daniel said, rolling his eyes. The second-born glanced at his older brother, David, adjusting his posture to match before looking back at Adam. “Just a ruling prince. That's why it's called a_ prince _dom, dummy."  
_

_Adam stuck out his tongue in reply._

_“It’s all right, Adam. You’ll never have to worry about that,” David said, smiling at him from his place beside Papa’s empty seat. “You’ve got all of us in line before you.”_

_Another boy leaned forward and grinned. “Unless he decides to gut us.”_

_“Aaron!” Maman gasped. Jacques immediately made jabbing motions towards Jean’s belly, who was making a very believable impression of being strangled._

_“I won’t gut you,” Adam told them all seriously, jabbing a thumb to his chest. “’Cause when I grow up, I’m leaving this boring place forever.”_

_“That’s the only reason?” David smirked._

_Adam didn’t hear him, for he was too preoccupied with pushing out his heavy chair and climbing onto his seat. He stepped up onto the table with one foot, nearly tipping his dinner to the floor. “I want adventure!” he declared, placing his hands on his hips and puffing out his tiny chest as far as it would go. “In the great, wide…” He blinked, thinking very hard for a moment before finally settling on: “…somewhere.”_

_His brothers laughed at him, but Adam only grinned. “Anywhere but here, I guess.”_

_“Off the table, sweetheart,” Maman chided him, though her smile had returned. “You can’t be rid of us all just yet.”_

* * *

Belle woke up cold.

When she opened her eyes, she was staring at a dying fire. She frowned, rolling over slowly beneath the covers so as to preserve their warmth. On her other side, bright yellow eyes were waiting for her.

“Cesar,” she whispered. She could see her breath. “Are you cold too?”

He inched closer, whining an affirmative. Belle lifted the covers up just long enough to let him slip inside, a rush of cold air following behind him.

Belle glanced to the window. She hadn’t kept the hour for weeks— Adam had no clocks, as far as she knew— but by the amount of light coming through his west-facing window, she must have slept quite late. Which made sense, given she’d stayed up reading _Othello_ to some unknown hour. But—

“He never came home?” she asked, running her fingers over Cesar’s soft back as he pressed against her chest. “Didn’t he said he’d be back before dawn?”

A long _purr_ answered her. Frowning again, Belle fought between the urge to remain in what little warmth the two of them had created and the need to investigate. About a minute passed before the latter won out. Cesar whined when she stood, and so Belle quickly threw several more logs on the fire before crossing the room to pull on her cloak and boots with chattering teeth.

Two hours later, Belle was trekking back to the house with a full pail of milk. She’d followed Adam’s tracks everywhere she could manage across the mountaintop, but having been previously married to a very talkative hunter Belle had gleamed enough knowledge to determine that none of the tracks were fresh. And when she found the barn, she knew he hadn’t been there, for Bonne still needed to be milked. Belle had even checked the outhouse, pausing momentarily over the deep hole in the ground but judging the latrine to be far too small for him to fall in. She shouted down anyway, just to be sure.

Back at the house, she poured the milk into an upright barrel in the corner, then fell into Adam’s chair as Cesar licked the pail clean. _Othello_ was waiting for her, and she picked it up tiredly, opening it to the place she’d marked with the small note Adam had left her.

Yet the words held none of the wonder they had the night before. Belle sighed, frustrated, replacing the note and shutting the book in defeat.

_“If you need me back for any reason at all, throw that into the fire.”_

Belle blinked, opening the pages slowly once again and staring at her name written in his rough cursive. She pulled the note out slowly, staring at it for a moment longer before letting her focus shift to the flames now roaring in the hearth beside her.

 _No,_ she thought quickly, shaking her head and tucking the parchment back between the pages. _That’s foolish._ If Adam was delayed somewhere, burning the note would only worry him for nothing.

Belle grit her teeth, sliding the book between the chair’s cushion as she wrapped an arm around her middle. Her old wounds were flaring from the morning’s exertion… but that was nothing to the panic now kindling in her gut.

And so Belle rose to her feet once again. She couldn’t rest, no matter how much her body now begged her to. Especially when there was still one place she hadn’t checked.

A half hour later, however, and still she hadn’t looked. She knew this was the place— she’d followed his old tracks here, to the ledge that dropped off into the forests far below. It was the same place she’d come when she had tried to—

Belle squeezed her eyes shut, pulling her cloak tight. That was only part of the reason she couldn’t force herself to look. The other was that she’d already seen one body dashed to pieces at the bottom of a cavern, and couldn’t bear to see another. Especially when this time, it was someone she actually…

Belle quickly shook her head. She didn’t know the end to that thought, and she certainly didn’t want to continue imagining all the terrible somethings she might see on the other side of that ledge. And so, with a burst of courage, she took a careful step forward and peered over.

Nothing but miles of woods, fog, and an overwhelming sense of vertigo greeted her. Belle stepped back quickly, leaning against the trunk of the nearest pine. If he had fallen on his climb… she wouldn’t be able to tell. Not from way up here.

**_Maybe… maybe he wanted to be rid of you after all…_ **

Belle closed her eyes, but couldn’t find it in herself to be angry at the voice’s return. Not when it sounded so afraid. _He wouldn’t abandon his house,_ she thought, breath hollow the freezing air as she tried to stay calm. _And he wouldn’t abandon me._

The girl in her mind was wringing her hands together. **_Maybe he was spotted. Captured. Or—_**

“Hush,” Belle said. Her breath formed in the cold air, and the wind carried it into the valley below.

 ** _This was— you were so foolish to let him go alone!_** the voice continued, unable to leave it alone. ** _How could you not have considered this? You’re going to starve to death, trapped and alone on this freezing mountain!_**

 _Oh, so now you want to live?_ Belle snapped back. She was growing afraid too. _Make up your mind._

The voice went quiet for a heartbeat. **_He’s… changed things, somehow,_** she admitted. ** _But I’ve always tried to protect you. That’s_ never _changed._**

 _What?_ Belle asked, but the girl had vanished somewhere into the depths of her mind. And so she stared back into the dark, distant forests.

It started to snow.

“Adam,” she whispered, clutching her cloak and feeling colder than she had in weeks. “Where _are_ you?”

* * *

_The first time Adam escaped death, he was still a boy._

_He’d gone to bed dreaming of magic lamps and carpets. But soon they melted into a pool of quick sand, an endless desert spreading out all around him and swallowing him whole. Over and over he drowned in it, the rough sand scalding and scarring his flesh as it pulled him to the center of the earth._

_An eternity must have passed before he gasped for air, waking in his own bed. Someone was singing a lullaby._

_“Maman?”_

_The room was dark, but for a single candle quivering near the bed. He felt wet all over; sick in every limb and cavity of his body. Raspy breathing filled the air that took him several moments to realize was his own._

_“Maman…” he whimpered, reaching a trembling hand into the darkness._

_The singing stopped. A hand met his, but it was too rough to be hers. “Oh, my little prince,” came a gentle voice. “I thought we’d lost you too.”_

_Another candle sprang to life. His nurse, Mrs. Potts, watched him from the shadows, eyes red and wet. Adam stared back blankly. “Where’s Maman?” he asked. His head fell sideways, and he stared at Aaron’s empty bed across the room. “Where are my brothers?”_

_Mrs. Potts gripped his hand. “O-oh,” she whispered, but only shook her head._

_Adam didn’t understand. He didn't even remember how he'd gotten here. He just wanted the pain to go away, and so he closed his eyes again and wished for sleep._

_Somewhere nearby, a door opened. Footsteps grew close. “He survived,” someone gasped._

_“Yes,” said Mrs. Potts. A cool cloth touched Adam’s brow, which felt good._

_“Beatrice… th-the master, he’s—”_

_“Hush, Henry. Let him sleep,” she whispered._

_Adam let his breath slow, but he couldn’t sleep now. And so he feigned it as best he could, and after several long minutes of silence Mrs. Potts finally spoke. “He’s gone, then,” she whispered._

_Cogsworth hummed deeply. “Left us not a quarter hour ago.”_

_Papa left? Where did he go? Adam still didn’t understand._

_“Who among us remains?” asked Cogsworth._

_“That young footman you just hired, and half a dozen others. Those who aren’t dead abandoned us hours ago.”_

_Cogsworth swore. They fell quiet again._

_“Where did it come from?” Mrs. Potts finally asked._

_“The village… it’s filled with night air. The Black Death. But she went anyway.”_

_“Who went?”_

_A sigh. “The princess. It must have followed her back.”_

_Adam’s heart was in his throat. Maman? Black… death? He gripped the blankets hard, as his eyes began to burn. Did that mean—_

_“What does this mean?” Mrs. Potts asked beside him._

_Adam could feel them turning towards him, and it was all he could do to hold back his tears and feign sleep once again._

_“It means,” Cogsworth replied, “that our youngest prince will be taking the crown.”_

* * *

Adam gasped. Alive, again, and for the first time he was relieved about it.

He couldn’t yet move, and so stared sideways at the dark, drying blood spread across the floor with nothing but his thoughts and the pain of a healing body to torment him.

It had been a long time since he’d been shot. It hurt more than he remembered.

He still held the mirror between his fingers, half-soaked in blood. “Show me… Belle’s name… written in my hand…” he rasped, once his voice finally returned. The glass glowed, turning the blood all around him into a glimmering green pool. Adam sighed in great relief. _She’s safe._

Still, it wasn't a guarantee. Even if Belle wasn't a danger to herself, life on that mountain posed plenty of threats on its own. Strong winds, slippery paths, avalanches...

He forced himself to roll over then, pushing himself onto his hands and knees while he looked towards the open barn door. The old gardener was still there, breathing shallowly where he lay. Adam let out another breath, grateful he hadn’t killed yet another innocent with his foolishness. Then he glanced at the light coming into the space, soft and blue. Dawn was here.

Wanting nothing more than to lie right back down where he’d woken, Adam pushed himself to his feet. He felt himself over and found his body whole, at least on the outside. However, beneath the fresh layers of skin several bullet fragments remained, unable to find their escape before the new flesh trapped them inside.

 _“I’m afraid I’ve gotten better since I made you,”_ the enchantress had said. Whatever the hell that meant.

Adam sighed tiredly. He’d dropped his bags far enough behind him that only the edges were touched by blood— another relief, he supposed, reaching for the first and lifting it with great effort over his shoulder. It was much, much heavier than he remembered; but then, his resurrection was only half complete. He heaved the other bag across his back, and left the barn with the weight of a world on his shoulders.

He made it the woods that bordered the estate without incident, taking refuge in the forest’s deep shadows. Adam paused then, dropped his load, and emptied his stomach into the closest bush.

 ** _Just leave them,_** the prince said quietly.

 _No…_ Adam thought slowly, looking back at his bags. _I won’t let Belle starve this winter._

**_You can rob another home later. You’ll never make it back like this._ **

Adam felt the air change then, and watched as the bare dustings of snow began to fall all around them. _I may not have another chance._ Then he frowned, glaring inward at the prince himself. _And I’m tired of failing everyone who depends on me._

For the barest of moments, the prince looked hurt. Then he snarled, storming back into the depths of Adam’s mind and slamming some imagined door behind him.

Adam sighed. Then he turned, heaved his load back over his shoulders, and began the long trek up the mountain.

* * *

“Adam!”

She was half-running, half-plodding towards him through the snow, a lantern swinging in one hand and the other gripping her side. Belle made a path through the snow in her wake, which was already to her knees as she closed the distance between them.

 _“Belle,”_ he gasped, reaching out a hand for hers. “Thank God. You’re all right.”

 _“I’m_ all right?” she cried, gripping back hard. She stopped, bringing a hand to her mouth as she looked him over with wide eyes.

Adam looked down. Oh, right. The front of his clothes were still coated in dark, dried blood, which the snow had done little to wash away. He must look absolutely terrifying.

“What happened?” she managed, breathless, dropping her hand from her mouth to her neck.

“Some trigger-happy gardener happened,” he grumbled.

“How are you even standing?!”

But before he could explain, Belle had somehow tugged his tired, massive form back the way she’d come and into his cabin. It seemed brighter here than he remembered, he noticed absently. Warmer, even. He was sitting now, though he couldn’t remember doing so, and finally let the bags slide from his arms. His head fell back against the chair, eyes drooping shut before he could stop them.

Sleep was just starting to drag him into its peaceful darkness when the reality of all that had happened flashed through his mind like an unwelcome light.

_The enchantress. I saw the enchantress._

He felt something then— Belle’s fingers, undoing the sticky buttons of his shirt. “Belle,” he gasped, opening his eyes and finding her standing between his legs, carefully peeling back the cloth and discarding the ruined pieces in the fire. “Belle…” he said again, anxious to witness her disgust at the sight of him, reaching up a tired paw to try and stop her. Belle batted him away, though barely batted an eye at the sticky, furry mess now staring her in the face. Instead, she parted the fur with her palms to investigate the skin underneath. Adam went still as stone as she did, finding himself unable to do anything but watch as she repeated the motion across every square inch of his chest.

At last she stopped, pulling back slowly and returning is gaze. “Where is your injury?” she asked slowly.

 _Oh, right._ “The blood, er… isn’t mine?”

“There are holes in your shirt,” she said, looping her finger through his dangling breast pocket and holding it up to him. “ _Multiple holes._ Don’t you dare tell me this isn’t your blood.”

Adam grimaced. “Um…”

She was running her fingers over him again, and whatever Adam had meant to say gave way to the growing heat in his… well, everywhere.

Finally, Belle looked back up at him. Her eyes were quaking. “You’re immortal,” she breathed.

Adam registered her words somewhat belatedly, barely coming back to his senses as he replied quite breathlessly himself. “Something, um… something like that,” he confessed. He shook his head quickly. “At least, dying ninety-two— actually, make that ninety- _three_ times hasn’t killed me.”

He realized his mistake as soon as he said it. Belle’s face grew pale in an instant, eyes growing wide where she stood. “Why have you died ninety-three times?” she asked in horror.

Not tonight. He couldn’t do this tonight. He reached a hand for his chest, now cold without her hands there, and felt those lumps of broken bullets still trapped beneath this skin. He sighed deeply. “I’m going to need a drink.”

Belle blinked quickly, and her brows came slowly together. Adam started to stand, but she pushed him back down and made her way slowly across the small room to enter his cellar herself. A minute later she climbed back up, setting a small bottle of whisky on the floor.

Adam grimaced. “I’ll need more than that,” he admitted.

She stopped where she stood, halfway out of the floor, and frowned deeply. “You’re kidding.”

“It takes a lot to numb this body.”

Belle bristled head to toe. “And why do you need to do _that?!”_

Adam stared at her. He’d never seen Belle angry before. What had he—?

And then he heard it. The faint clinking of that bottle against the floor, held by trembling fingers drained of all their blood. His heart sank at the sight of it. Belle wasn’t angry; she was _afraid._ “Oh, Belle…” Damn it. How could he have been such an insensitive brute? “I… I should have explained. I didn’t mean… The bullet fragments, I need to cut them out. I just wanted something to dull the pain.”

Belle’s eyes went wide, and at once her demeanor softened.

“I won’t grow angry, or dangerous,” he promised. _Not like him._ “Only tired. But… you know what, it doesn’t matter. I can just leave the bullets alone, they’ll eventually—”

“No.” Belle looked away, squeezing her eyes shut as all the tension melted from her body. It left her looking small. “I… forgive me. I didn’t understand. I thought…” She pursed her lips, ducking back into the cellar and bringing back a second, larger jug. “Is this enough?” she asked quietly.

Adam nodded in shame.

She brought the jug and a glass over, set them on the windowsill, then poured him a drink. “Here,” she said bravely, handing it to him. “You work on that, and we’ll get you cleaned up.”

Adam took the drink from her, but didn’t take a sip. Instead, he watched while Belle busied herself heating a fresh kettle over the fire, watched while she filled the only bucket he owned with steaming water and started to soak up the blood from his chest with a rag she’d apparently summoned from midair.

She was so kind, so good. He didn’t deserve her.

 ** _What’s that you say?_** asked the prince cheekily.

Didn’t deserve to have her _here_ , Adam amended. He looked to the window, and sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I should have remembered that about him.” That Gaston had been a drunkard, angry and violent, and that the more he drank the worse she’d been hurt.

Belle shook her head as she worked. “No. Don’t apologize. You hurt yourself helping me, and I only lashed out at you.”

“You had a good reason to.”

Belle paused in her motions, and closed her eyes. It was a long moment before she spoke. “I didn’t used to be like this,” she said at last. “So weak, so… afraid. I used to be…” But she didn’t finish, sighing as she turned to plunge the red-stained rag back in the water.

Adam wished he knew what to say. He wished he hadn’t been so thoughtless in the garden, hadn’t so thoughtlessly asked for a drink when he should have known how it would make her feel. He watched while she worked, and truly felt like the monster he was.

“So,” Belle said a minute later. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

Adam sucked in another breath, and closed his eyes. “I saw her again,” he said quietly. “The… enchantress.”

Belle froze, eyes flashing up to meet his. “What?” she gasped.

Adam finally tossed back his drink, though its warmth barely touched the ice in his chest. “Yeah,” he said at last, sighing and setting the empty glass back on the windowsill. “I nearly wet myself.”

Belle didn’t laugh. She only stared at him as the water dripped from the forgotten rag in her hands. “What did she want?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Well, actually…” Something inside Adam’s stomach turned over. He looked down, staring at the water as it pooled along the floor. “She didn’t even _remember_ me.”

The dripping water became a stream, and Adam realized Belle’s hands had formed into fists that were squeezing every last drop from the rag. He looked up, and watched her expression as she now looked towards the hearth. The fire reflected brightly in her eyes as they narrowed. “I knew it,” she said softly.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing,” she said, abandoning the cloth in order to pour him a second drink twice as large as the first. When she looked back at him, that fire in her eyes only seemed fiercer as she pressed it into his hand. “So _she_ did this to you.”

“Oh, no,” he said quickly. “This was… something else. Kind of. I mean…” He sighed. “Let me start again.”

And so he did, relating the show of magic he’d witnessed, the servant girl with the new form, the meeting in the barn— and that stupid old gardener.

Belle was quiet, clearly deep in thought.

“I should have asked her to…” Asked her to what? Change him _back?_ Adam shook his head. “Actually, I don’t know what I should have done. She was…” He wrinkled his brow. “She wasn’t what I remember. Or maybe she was. I just… I don’t know.” He couldn’t talk straight. He couldn’t _think_ straight.

Belle reached out, and took his free hand in hers. Adam felt at little calmer as she did.

“It wasn’t how I imagined meeting her again would go,” he said quietly. “And I can’t help but feel I made a terrible mistake. _Again.”_

Belle frowned at that. “I’m not sure what any of this means…” She squeezed his fingers gently. “But you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Adam looked at the drink in his other hand, at the cursed fingers that held it. He scowled. “I always do something wrong.”

Belle grew very still. She brought her other hand to his, both holding his one as though it were something very delicate. “Adam,” she said. Her voice was shallow, careful as she spoke. “What… what has killed you so many times?”

He nearly started. Indeed, he had the sudden urge to bolt out of this house and back for the woods from which he’d come.

She shouldn’t have known enough to ask it. But somehow she had, somehow she’d sensed it.

 ** _Don’t tell her,_** the prince said, suddenly frantic. **_Not this. Anything but this._**

Adam pursed his lips. Maybe the prince was right. Maybe he _shouldn’t_ tell her, not with what she’d nearly done herself. He swallowed, and met Belle’s eyes. She was watching him quietly, patiently, not pressing him but simply waiting. No, perhaps it was wrong to tell her after all she’d been through. But perhaps, at the same time… that meant she’d understand. And maybe, in a strange way, it would help her feel less alone.

And so, ignoring the prince’s pleas, Adam spoke the truth. “I have.”

The pain broke over Belle’s face in an instant. But he barely saw it before she stepped forward, letting her head rest against his chest and her fingers bury themselves into his damp fur. She trembled with sorrow, but said nothing. Because she _knew._

Adam quickly set his glass on the floor so he could bring both arms around her. She buried herself deeper against him; he cradled her head in his paw. “Don’t cry, Belle. Not for me,” he said softly. He let his claws retract so he could hold her even closer. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have told you.”

She shook her head where she stood, though her shoulders continued to tremble.

“It’s been many years since I last tried… if you can even call it trying. I’ve known for a long time my efforts were in vain.”

“Th-then why,” Belle whispered. “Why keep doing that to yourself?”

 ** _Don’t,_** begged the prince.

Adam breathed in that old, familiar darkness. It crept through the floorboards, the cracks in the walls, filling the room and the empty cavern in his heart. “Because,” he rasped, letting it consume him. “I killed them. All of them. Every man, woman… every _child_ that was in my care.”

 ** _Stop…_** the prince said hollowly. He sat back in the corner of Adam’s thoughts, arms wrapped around his legs and head tucked between his knees. **_Please… stop._**

“All dead, because I was a selfish, arrogant fool.”

The prince was weeping now, but Adam wasn’t. He only felt anger. Anger at that bastard prince, anger at himself for something he would never be able to make right. “I deserved to die for what I’d done,” he said roughly. “Over and over until I’d suffered for every death I’d caused.”

“N-no,” Belle gasped, pulling back and staring at him with wide, wet eyes. “No, you didn’t— _she_ killed them, Adam. Don’t you see? That witch—”

“Enchantress,” he corrected quickly, glancing towards the window.

“That _witch_ is to blame, _not_ you,” Belle persisted. She pulled back further, wiped her eyes against her sleeve, and gave him a look so resolute he didn’t dare argue with her. “What kind of curse punishes a hundred people for the sins of one man?” she demanded. “That was no lesson to be taught— that was cruelty of a magical being acting on a whim, with no consequences for her own actions.”

Adam opened his mouth to reply, but closed it again. That _was_ sort of the impression he gotten in the garden. He shook his head. “But I was the one who—”

“Who what? Was an impulsive, self-centered teenager? What a _concept,”_ Belle huffed, throwing her hands in the air. The movement made her grimace, so she put them back to her side and waved off his concerns as she went on. “Look. Accept whatever responsibility you will for your own fate, but I’m sorry, I will _not_ allow you to take the blame for the rest.”

Adam had watched in speak with great amazement. “You’re only trying to make me feel better.”

“Because you should,” Belle said matter-of-factly. “I am not one to skirt the truth. I am, in fact, incredibly blunt.”

And finally, Adam smiled. “I’m starting to see that.”

She blinked, opened her mouth in surprise, then wrinkled her nose as she reached out to pinch him. Adam chuckled.

“Well, _anyway,”_ Belle said, trying and failing not to smile. She’d come close again, hands resting lightly on his chest. Adam let one paw rest lazily on her hip. “If she ever shows up again, I won’t hesitate to give her a piece of my mind.”

He played with a loose thread at her waist, and grinned. “You’d probably come out of that conversation a lot hairier.”

She laughed, long and sweet, reaching up as she did to brush away the fur from his eyes. The motion sent a burning wave from Adam’s head to down to the tips of his wolfish toes. While she turned back to retrieve the rag, he reached for his glass and downed the second drink in a single gulp.

The darkness had vanished without him even realizing it. Hidden beneath the floorboards, perhaps, ready to return at any moment… but for now, everything seemed all right. Sure, the prince was pissed at him for what he’d shared, but the _real_ him felt light as air.

Though that could have been the whisky.

“How do you feel?” Belle asked quietly.

She’d finished cleaning the last of the blood, and he’d nearly finished the bottle. And indeed, the room certainly wasn’t as steady as normal. “Mm, ready,” he mumbled. Pulling back, he examined his chest and let a single claw free. “All right,” he said, sucking in a deep breath. “Here we go.”

 _“Sacrebleu!”_ Belle cried. “What are you doing?!”

Adam frowned. “I have to get them out.” Wasn’t that obvious?

“Not like that, you don’t.” She stood, turning and pointing to his bed. “Lie down. I’ll do it.”

Adam looked at the rug by the fire. It looked unusually cozy. “Okay.”

Belle was shaking her head at something as she helped him to the floor. “The needle, and thread,” she said. “Did you get it?”

He laid down on his back, thinking very hard about that. “Mm, no… I mean, you don’t need it,” he said at last. “Actually… my flesh will probably fight you.”

Her eyes widened for a moment, but she quickly pursed her lips. She nodded, then stood and started looking through the small kitchen area. “A… a knife… do you have none?” she asked.

“I do… oh, wait.” He’d hidden them all. Except… “There’s one in my belt.”

Adam concentrated _very_ hard on the swirling distortions in the ceiling while she found the latter.  

“All right,” Belle said, his knife in one hand and a clean rag in the other. She bit her lip hard, staring at his chest as her face lost most of its color. “Just… hold still.”

The whiskey wasn’t enough. It never was. Adam drew an arm over his eyes, and grit his teeth. “That hurts…” he moaned.

“I know,” Belle said softly. She dabbed away the fresh blood while his skin healed over, dropping a piece of metal into the bowl near her knee.

Cesar appeared from somewhere, nestling against him. “I-I changed my mind,” he gasped, digging into the blankets with his claws. “Just leave them.”

“We’re nearly done.”

Adam was panting and trembling like mad by the time the last fragment was freed. He hadn’t yelled, at least. He focused on breathing normally now, the ceiling above still fuzzy from pain and whiskey. He let his focus shift around the room in an effort to distract himself. “You… you cleaned,” he managed, finally realizing what had changed. “You weren’t supposed to.”

“I have standards, you know,” Belled teased. “And besides… I couldn’t just read all day not knowing what had happened. So it was either keep my hands busy, or pace a hole in your floor.”

Her words left him feeling tender. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

“I’m sorry you were hurt helping me.” Her shoulders fell as she said it, and she stared sadly at her hands while she washed them clean.

Adam, thinking little and feeling everything, lifted a paw to touch her cheek. She looked up quickly, eyes growing wide as he tucked his fingers into her hair and spoke. “I’d take a thousand bullets to have you here with me.”

Belle blushed, and her gaze grew soft. But almost at once her face fell again, and she took his paw between her hands and pulled it down into her lap. “You’ve been drinking,” she said gently. She looked away.

Had he done something wrong? He must have, but sleep pulled at his mind and aching body and soon enough he’d forgotten about it all together.

Belle gathered up the mess, and turned to stand. “Wait—” Adam gasped, a sudden, unexplainable panic rousing him from the claws of sleep. He reached out to her again. “Don’t leave.”

Belle turned back. And then, slowly, she smiled. He didn’t know why, but as she took his outstretched hand and knelt back down beside him, it didn’t seem to matter. Without letting go, she reached behind her and pulled one of the furs over him. And her.

She was tucked in the crook of his arm now, nestled against his side, their joined hands pulled to her heart. He felt the brush of her lips against his knuckles. “I promised to stay, remember?” she whispered.

Sleep took him then, and Adam let it. For he was no longer afraid of waking up alone.


End file.
